Striking a Balance
by sneetchstar
Summary: Princess Guinevere and Prince Arthur are promised to one another as toddlers, but never meet again until their wedding day. Medieval AU.
1. Chapter 1

" _Think not because you are now wed, that all your courtship's at an end." -Antonio Hurtado de Mendoza_

-Prologue-

"It's settled then," Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, says, leaning back in his chair. He nods at King Thomas Leodegrance, King of Cameliard, across the table before glancing over at Thomas' scribe, finishing the contract.

"I had hoped that Eleanor could have remained for the entire negotiation," Thomas says. His wife had to leave to attend their newborn son, Prince Elyan, and after she left, Uther started hitting harder with the demands. As Thomas watches the scribe, he begins wondering if meeting most of these terms without much argument was the right thing to do. _We need this alliance. We need the aid of Camelot's army. We need safe passage through his kingdom. All I have to offer is our port and my only daughter._ He looks over at his precious, chubby two-year-old girl, sitting on a blanket on the floor, surrounded by toys. She is quietly playing with blocks while being watched over by her nursemaid and ignored by the rambunctious blonde three-year-old prince who is running about with a wooden sword and being a general nuisance.

"Arthur!" his nursemaid calls again, and is unheeded again. "Please come over here and sit," she cajoles.

"Not 'till I slay the dragon!" he answers, charging at one of the guards, who deftly dodges just in time to avoid having his most valued and sensitive parts attacked by a speeding toddler with a blunt instrument.

The scribe clears his throat, and the two kings give him their attention. "'Camelot gains exclusive use to three of Cameliard's ten docks in its port and Cameliard is guaranteed safe passage through Camelot.'" he reads the last of the terms. The kings nod and he continues. "'To seal these terms, Prince Arthur and Princess Guinevere will be joined in marriage within one year of the prince's eighteenth birthday,'" he concludes. "Is there anything else you would like me to add, my lords?"

"I do not think so," Uther answers, then looks at Thomas.

"Seventeen is rather young to be married," Thomas says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Igraine was barely sixteen when we were wed," Uther comments. "And wasn't Eleanor about that age as well?"

"Well, yes, but… that was then. And this is my _daughter_ ," Thomas counters. Uther raises an eyebrow. "I'm merely wondering if we could… delay it, say, two more years?"

"To what end? To allow you to continue doting on her? Seventeen is a perfectly reasonable age for a girl to marry," Uther says. "If you still feel hesitant, I'm sure King Rodor would be more than happy—"

"Very well," Thomas says, beginning to dislike the manipulative Uther a bit more as each minute passes. _I hope the boy's resemblance to his mother goes deeper than just his looks. He seems to be quite bright. Just a tad boisterous is all. Most boys are at that age though…_

"Thomas," Uther says. "Are you still with us?" He slides the parchment across the table for him to sign.

"Yes… yes, of course," he answers, taking the quill. He signs, then pours a blob of soft wax on the page and presses his ring into it.

There is a crash as Arthur charges an empty chair, toppling it.

"Arthur," his father sharply calls, and the boy immediately stops. "We are nearly done, and you've given everyone in this hall a headache. Sit down and be quiet."

The young prince slumps. "Yes, Father." He trudges over to his nursemaid and plops down on the bench next to her, swinging his feet.

"You should play with Princess Guinevere," the nursemaid suggests. "Isn't she a pretty little girl? And so quiet."

"No," Arthur answers. "Girls are boring. She's a boring baby."

-15 Years Later-

Princess Guinevere has been silent for most of the journey to Camelot. It isn't a particularly long journey, less than a day's ride, but it feels like she's been riding for an entire week.

Riding to her own wedding. To a man she has never met. A man she has never seen. But a man about whom she already knows almost everything. Uther saw to that much, but never saw fit to have them actually meet.

"Nearly there, Gwen," Elyan excitedly says. He's been looking forward to the trip; his first _official_ visit to another kingdom as Crown Prince. Guinevere is older, but the laws of Cameliard state that only a male heir can succeed the throne. Hence the marriage alliance made with Camelot so soon after Elyan's birth.

Guinevere always wondered why her father couldn't just change the laws. Wondered what good it was being King if he is unable to change unfair laws and nonsensical traditions.

She wonders these things, but keeps her mouth closed, reminding herself that it is not her place to question.

"How much longer?" she asks her brother.

"Um… oh, look! You can see the towers of the castle!" he answers, pointing over the treetops.

She looks up and sees the brilliant white stone peeking out from between the leaves. A few minutes later, they emerge in a clearing, and the castle looms before them, a beautiful but intimidating fortress gleaming in the sunlight. Red and gold flags wave in the breeze, and a large banner embroidered with a dragon gently flaps against the side of a long wall.

Princess Guinevere realizes she is terrified.

"I do hope you will be happy here," her father says, pulling his horse alongside hers. "I know I wasn't always the best father, but I did my best to give you a happy childhood. I hope I did your mother proud." He gives her a sad smile, the smile he always wears when he thinks of his late wife, gone nearly thirteen years now.

"I know you did, Papa," she says, managing a smile for him. "I'm just nervous."

"I'd be worried if you weren't," he replies. "If it helps, I have heard many good things about Prince Arthur. He's supposedly very handsome."

"I'm more worried about how he behaves than how he looks," she says. "If he is kind, then it doesn't matter if he's ugly."

"I suppose telling you he is a skilled swordsman and the finest knight Camelot has ever seen doesn't really help much, does it?" King Thomas says with a sigh. Those are the only two things he knows to be absolutely true about the young prince, because _everyone_ he encounters who has met the prince says so.

"Not really. But if he is a knight, he will be chivalrous. Won't he?" she asks.

"I certainly hope so," he answers. "Put a smile on that pretty face, my daughter," he adds, smiling himself to encourage her. "We are about to enter the town, and this will be the first – and perhaps only – glimpse some of the subjects will get of their future queen."

Guinevere is a princess. She knows the importance of putting on a good appearance for the sake of the kingdom. So she sits taller in her saddle, smiles brightly, and follows her father into the lower town with her brother and a small retinue of knights following behind them. As she looks around, she feels her smile becoming genuine as people look up from their tasks to watch them pass. An old woman toothlessly grins, clearly happy with her king's choice in a wife for their prince. Small children wave at her, and she waves back. One little girl runs up and gives her a slightly bent daisy before hurrying away.

Guinevere makes sure the girl sees her tuck the daisy into her hair. The girl's eyes widen and she beams brightly, overjoyed that she should be so honored.

"It seems they love you already," Elyan says as they approach the gates to the courtyard.

"While that is reassuring, it is only the beginning," she answers, taking a deep breath before riding through the gates.

xXx

Guinevere imagines she can hear the revelry going on below, somewhere in the castle. Revelry taking place without her. The men are eating, drinking, and otherwise carrying on while Guinevere is sequestered in her rooms. Temporary rooms at that.

Prince Arthur has requested that they share quarters, which came as a surprise to both Guinevere and her father, who had expected that she would have, at the very least, adjoining rooms to the prince.

But until tomorrow, she is to stay in this room. Alone, save her maid.

"I'm sorry, Guinevere," her father had said. "It is their tradition."

She is beginning to hate that word. There are several traditions with which she has become less than thrilled. The no-women-heirs tradition in her homeland. This no-women-allowed-to-the-party tradition. She won't be able to see Arthur at all until the wedding, which is a tradition in nearly every kingdom, but usually it only means on the day of the ceremony.

She sits heavily in a chair, looking over at her wedding dress. _I won't even really get to see him until the end of the ceremony._ That's another troubling tradition: She will have to wear a veil that only allows her to see enough to not bump into things when she walks. So she won't even see Arthur until he lifts it at the end. To kiss her.

 _I suppose it is a small consolation that he will have to marry me without first seeing me as well,_ she reasons, closing her eyes and trying for the thousandth time to remember back to the one time they did meet.

Nothing. She was only two. There is no way she can remember any of that day. Her father has told her that she would be less than thrilled if she did remember the three-year-old Arthur Pendragon and it is probably better that she not, saying, "You remember Elyan when he was three? Same thing."

She reaches over and takes the veil, carelessly throwing it over her head to determine how much she can see.

It's not very encouraging.

xXx

Later that night, Arthur lies awake in his bed. He didn't drink excessively, much to the chagrin of his father and several of the older knights. He didn't want to feel hungover for his wedding. He saw King Thomas' small nod of approval when he refused a third refill, so he knows he made the correct choice. And he feels like he owes his future bride that much at least.

Not that he knows much about her. He has only a very vague memory of a baby with wild dark hair sitting on a blanket. He remembers he had his toy sword along, so that means he very likely ignored her. Even if he had played with her then, it wouldn't be any help now.

 _Young Elyan is handsome enough, so that is some consolation. And I remember Queen Eleanor being quite beautiful… I think. But Thomas is a good man, and he assured me that Guinevere is intelligent and beautiful. I do not believe he would deliberately mislead me._

He rolls over onto his side. _Of course, fathers always think their daughters are beautiful, don't they?_

Arthur has known all his life that he is to marry Princess Guinevere. When he asked his father about the possibility of actually _meeting_ her a few times before they married, Uther always dismissed it, saying, "You'll have your whole life to get to know each other. Besides, you can't say no to this marriage, so what does it matter if you meet at the wedding or before? A contract was signed, and that contract will be honored."

Despite being promised to this woman since he was three years old, Arthur still had a couple of dalliances. When he was 16, the knights decided he needed to become a man, found him a willing young maid, shut them in one of the stables together, and told him not to come out until he was one.

The next year, King Godwin and his daughter Princess Elena came for a visit, and Arthur and Elena spent an afternoon together figuring a few things out about their bodies. They both knew better than to have any long term expectations, but wanted to learn and, after half a bottle of wine they snuck out, passed a few hours in the forest quite pleasurably. _Without_ taking the princess' maidenhead. They were curious; they were not fools.

Arthur realizes he's more worried about Guinevere being a nitwit or a shrew than being beautiful. _This is the woman with whom I am to spend the rest of my life. I will grow accustomed to her looks, whatever they may be, but if she is unkind or stupid, that would be much more difficult with which to live._

Morgana once told him that she has heard that Princess Guinevere is quite pretty. Not beautiful, but "quite pretty." Arthur trusts his cousin more than his father, and took some small comfort in that. Unfortunately, she was unable to provide any more information on the reclusive princess. Arthur isn't sure if she is reclusive or simply sheltered by her father, but figures he'll learn soon enough.

 _I don't recall ever hearing anything bad about her,_ he realizes, thinking about how Princess Vivian is reputed to be gorgeous but ridiculously spoiled. Even his cousin, Lady Morgana Du Bois, while very beautiful, has quite a temper if she is crossed. Her father, Lord Agravaine, even (grudgingly) allowed her to train with the knights for a while, thinking it would be a way to channel her aggression, but all it accomplished was making her even more dangerous when angry.

Lord Agravaine has yet to find a husband for his 20-year-old daughter, and Arthur suspects that Morgana is intentionally preventing this from happening.

Some days, he doesn't blame her. Tomorrow he is to be married to a woman he barely remembers meeting once, 15 years ago.

He closes his eyes, trying to recall the toddler sitting on the blanket with the blocks that day. He remembers the purple blanket. He remembers the blocks. He remembers her hair, all corkscrew curls.

Her face eludes him. _I'll find out soon enough._

xXx

"Stop fidgeting, Arthur," Uther snaps under his breath from his place beside his son at the front of the hall.

"You'll have to pardon me for being a trifle anxious, Father," Arthur retorts. "It's not every day one is being forced to marry a woman he doesn't know."

Uther heaves an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh. "Oh yes, poor little prince. Have you forgotten that I married your mother under these same circumstances nearly 20 years ago?"

"No, I haven't," Arthur answers, his voice a little louder. "Would it have killed you to arrange even one meeting? Or, I don't know, have her marry me without her face covered?"

"Lower your voice," Uther grits through clenched teeth. "And the veil is a long-standing tradition of this kingdom."

"It's a stupid tradition," Arthur mutters.

"Nevertheless," Uther unhelpfully replies just before the doors open.

Arthur's first thought on seeing her is _She is short._ Her height doesn't matter to him; it is simply the first thing that came to his mind, seeing her on King Thomas' arm. Arthur watches intently, trying to see her face through the heavy lace veil. He can make out the darkness of her hair and that's about it. Her hand on her father's arm is slender and long-fingered, her skin the same warm tan as Thomas'. He takes a moment to assess the rest of her and cannot help being pleased to note that she has a slender waist and nicely rounded hips. The veil hangs to the middle of her torso, so that's about all he can see.

Guinevere keeps blinking and squinting as she walks forward, even though she already learned that trying to see anything at all is pointless. She has to almost totally rely on her father to keep her headed in the right direction. She can see three silhouettes at the front of the hall that are vaguely man-shaped. She can only guess at which one is Arthur.

As they reach the front, she learns she was correct. The one on her left is the man officiating the ceremony, and the one on the far right is Uther, which she only knows because he steps over and clasps arms with her father. Leaving the tall, slender figure in the middle as her future husband.

The officiant says some words, her father answers him, then takes both of her hands. "I love you, Guinevere," he whispers. Then he gives her hands a light squeeze and places her right hand in Arthur's left before stepping back to stand beside Uther in the front row.

His hand is large and warm, and she feels strangely comforted having hers held in it. She looks up at him, but he is too obscured for her to see anything helpful. _I think his hair is blonde_ is the last thought she has before she has to speak her words.

Arthur has trouble concentrating on the ceremony. He is distracted trying to see through her veil. Distracted by the softness of her hands. Distracted by her sweet scent. And when she speaks, he is distracted by the soft melody of her voice.

"Prince Arthur…" Geoffrey says, and his tone suggests this is his second prompt.

Arthur turns his head towards the older man and nods, indicating he is paying attention now. He dutifully repeats his words, then watches as a garland is wrapped around their joined hands.

Geoffrey speaks the final statements, then finishes with, "It is time to seal this union with a kiss." Then he removes the garland and nods at the prince.

Arthur slowly lifts the veil, willing his hands to be still and chiding himself for needing to do so. The first thing he sees is a pair of pink lips that appear to have been crafted expressly for kissing, and he swallows hard as the rest of her face comes into view. Her pert nose dotted with freckles appears, then her translucent brown eyes surrounded by long lashes, set at a slight angle beneath a smooth forehead.

 _She is beautiful._ The thought springs unbidden, even catching him by surprise. As he stares down into her upturned face, his world shifts. Women he previously thought of as the great beauties of the five kingdoms – Princess Vivian, Princess Mithian, Princess Elena, even Lady Morgana – seem pale and uninteresting, even ordinary. Morgana is considered the standard of beauty throughout Camelot, with her flawless alabaster skin, flowing raven hair, and green eyes. Arthur knows that if she weren't his cousin, he would very likely be marrying _her_ today instead of the petite, tawny-skinned nymph before him. Guinevere is special. Guinevere is unique.

And Guinevere is _his,_ which somehow makes her even more beautiful. And judging by the flush rising in her cheeks and the way she's staring up at him, she is as pleased with his appearance as he is with hers.

For her part, Guinevere didn't have the advantage Arthur had. He got to see her face bit by bit; she simply looked up and there he was. He is more handsome than she could have imagined, staring down at her like she was a priceless jewel. _This man is my husband?_ His hair looks like spun gold, and his eyes like a stormy sky, blue and gray at the same time. She has heard talk of the handsome Prince Arthur, but always assumed it was the standard empty flattery one heaps on royalty. All Princesses are called beautiful even if they are toads; all Princes are dashingly handsome even if they are pigs.

Arthur is no pig. _At least not physically_ , she reminds herself, knowing he could still be ugly on the inside. She shyly looks up at him again and something in his eyes tells her he is not. His entire expression is open, as though he is sharing his entire soul with her in this moment. She thinks it might feel more intimate than what they will be doing later that night, but she's not sure.

Guinevere is surprised to discover she actually _wants_ him to kiss her. His lips are full for a man, and she has to consciously stop her hand from lifting to touch them. To make certain he is real. That she is not dreaming. But she must be dreaming, because there is no way he can be as beautiful as he is.

Her lips part and his gaze drops to them for a moment as he seems to remember what he is supposed to do next. They don't know how long they've been staring at one another, but Geoffrey politely clears his throat a second later.

Arthur takes her hands in his again, then leans down towards her. Guinevere automatically tilts her face up for him

His lips softly press against hers and her eyes flutter closed, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. She's never been kissed before, and marvels at the sensations such a simple act is causing in her body.

Arthur gently pulls away, needing to stop himself before he makes a spectacle of them both. The moment his lips touched hers, he was lost. His initial assessment of her lips – that they were crafted expressly for kissing – proves correct, but he immediately amends it to "crafted expressly to be kissed by me and no one else". He wanted nothing more than to spend the next ten minutes exploring the soft sweetness of her mouth, but propriety won out and he managed to pull away before encouraging her lips to part so he could do just that.

Geoffrey makes another announcement that neither Arthur nor Guinevere hear, and when the crowd erupts in applause, they begin walking back up the center aisle.

Instead of placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, Arthur holds her hand as they walk. He wonders if he has just defied another silly tradition by doing so. A small part of him hopes he has.

Outside in the corridor, they have just a few moments' quiet. They are supposed to head to the feast, but Arthur looks around a moment before tugging Guinevere into an alcove out of sight.

"Hello," he whispers, giving her a bashful smile.

"My lord," she answers, curtseying and returning his smile.

He watches her small, graceful movements, trying not to let his eyes linger at her cleavage for too long. "You are beautiful," he blurts.

"Thank you," she answers. "I am happy my appearance is pleasing to you."

"It definitely is," he replies, lifting her hand and kissing it. His thumb absently strokes the gold ring he placed there a short time ago. "Is… is my appearance pleasing to you?" he shyly asks.

She blinks, unprepared for this question. _He wants to know what I think of him?_ "Um… yes," she answers. Then, "Yes, very much so." She holds his gaze for a moment before looking down, her cheeks turning a dusky pink.

"Arthur," Uther calls, a short distance away, clearly annoyed at his missing son.

"I just wanted to take a moment alone with you to talk to only you before we have to go to the feast," he quickly explains. "I… I hope you will be happy here, and I will try my hardest to be a good husband to you."

Guinevere is growing more and more confused. He's not acting at all like she was told to expect. "I… I am honored to be your wife, my lord, and I hope I will please you," she says, trying to not sound too much like she is speaking a rehearsed sentence.

"I'm sure you will," he says with a smile. "And please, call me—"

"Arthur!" Uther repeats, louder now.

Arthur glances away, then leans down and gives her a quick peck on the lips before saying, "I guess we'll have to talk more later," and pulling her back out into the open.

"There you are," Uther says, frowning. "The people are waiting."

"Sorry, Father. I merely wished to have a moment alone with my wife before we have to face the crowds," Arthur replies.

Uther's frown deepens. "Yes, well, you'll have plenty of time for… _that…_ later," he says.

Arthur's mouth opens to protest, but then he decides there's no point and closes it. Uther sweeps away and Arthur gives an apologetic smile to Guinevere before leading her to the feast.

 **A/N: If you are a fan of the Arranged Marriage trope (like I am), make sure you check out my friend faithlessducks' story "Rules for Marriage".**


	2. Chapter 2

" _You don't love someone because they're perfect; you love them in spite of the fact that they're not." -Jodi Picoult_

Arthur and Guinevere didn't have much time to talk or get to know one another during the feast. Too much activity, too many people. Everyone wanted their attention. Even when they danced the traditional first dance, they couldn't really talk because they kept having to part and come back together.

So when Guinevere is whisked away to be prepared for their wedding night, the new bride and groom still don't really know one another much better than they did before the ceremony.

She is attended by her personal maid, Sefa, as well as one of Camelot's maids, an an older, matronly woman who introduced herself as Hilda. She is very businesslike in her movements and chatters about nothing at all the entire time, apparently trying to put the young bride at ease.

Guinevere hears none of it. All she can think about is Arthur. How he was a complete gentleman the entire evening. How he is much more affectionate than she was expecting, frequently kissing her hand or cheek, and even her lips a few times. How he gazed at her like she is the most beautiful princess in the Five Kingdoms.

"My lady?" Hilda repeats, drawing Guinevere out of her thoughts. "It is time."

"Thank you," she absently replies, and follows the maid to Arthur's rooms. _Her_ rooms.

Arthur has been mainly pacing and trying to ignore his manservant, Merlin, while he waits for his wife. He finally kicked Merlin out after his fussing and puttering got to be too irritating, and the servant seemed grateful for it.

When her soft knock sounded, Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin before running to the door. He stopped halfway and made himself walk. _I don't want to frighten her. She seems skittish enough already._

"Guinevere," he greets with a smile. "Thank you, Hilda," he says to the maid, who curtseys and disappears. "Please," he invites, stepping to the side. "These are your rooms now as well," he says, if only to fill the silence. "You need never knock on these doors again," he adds, closing them. After a second, he slides the bolt in place, locking them in.

The sound makes Guinevere's heart feel like it has dropped into her stomach, but she maintains her (hopefully) serene expression. "Yes, my lord," she answers.

"Arthur," he says, taking her hand and kissing it. "Please, call me Arthur." Then he turns it and kisses her palm.

She gasps lightly, not expecting such a seemingly simple gesture to feel so… sensual. She didn't realize her palms were so sensitive, and when he moves and kisses the inside of her wrist, she realizes she is very likely going to be in for quite a few surprises tonight.

"Are you very nervous?" he asks, threading his fingers through hers.

"Yes," she admits, biting her lower lip. She feels cold and hot at the same time. Slightly dizzy. She knows it is mainly the anticipation that is making her want to jump out of her skin. She almost wants to start laughing, and presses her lips together to stop herself.

Arthur sees this, and she watches as his gaze drops to them. When his eyes flicker back to hers, his expression makes her gasp yet again. No one has ever looked at her this way before.

"We can go as slow as you need. I don't want you to be afraid," he says, his voice low and soft. He leans close and kisses her cheek. "You look beautiful," he murmurs against her skin. She is clad in a red robe over a traditional white silk gown, and her hair is loose, cascading down her back and over one shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispers. She looks down and finds herself looking at his bare feet below the hem of the soft black sleeping trousers he is wearing. It somehow feels intimate seeing them, and she stares a moment before looking up at him again. He is wearing a simple white linen shirt, and looks so different from how he appears in formal dress. He looks soft and approachable, and she likes it, but can't find the words to tell him so.

Arthur tilts her chin slightly upwards and kisses her lips. "When I first saw these lips, I knew they were made to be kissed," he says, kissing her once more. "Specifically, by me," he adds, smiling.

Guinevere smiles back at him, enchanted by his sweetness while still feeling off-balance because of it. She had been led to believe that she would immediately be dragged to the bed and deflowered. Before she can say anything, he kisses her again, longer this time. When she feels his tongue slide forward and lightly sweep against the seam of her lips, she startles as a thrill races through her body.

"Open your mouth for me, Love," he whispers.

She automatically complies, not fully realizing why until his tongue enters her mouth. She unconsciously stiffens and he pulls away.

"Have you never kissed a man before?" Arthur asks.

"No, my lord," she answers.

"No dalliances with a handsome stable lad or visiting lordling?" he presses.

"No, my lord," she repeats. "I was to save myself for you in every way."

He kisses her. "Arthur," he reminds her. "Come." He takes her hand and leads her to the bed. "You'll get a stiff neck if we keep standing like this," he explains.

At the bedside, he tenderly caresses her face, then says, "Don't be afraid," as he unties her robe and slips it from her shoulders. She expects him to take her gown off as well, but he doesn't. Instead, he kneels down and removes her slippers, surprising her once more. Then he sits on the bed, scooting over to lounge against the pillows. When he holds his hand out, she takes it and joins him, stretching out beside him.

"I am sorry I do not have more experience. Or any experience actually," she says, figuring he is unhappy that she doesn't even know how to kiss.

He lifts her hand and kisses it. "You have no need to apologize, Guinevere," he says. "I'm not disappointed. I said we would go slow, and we will." He already feels a curious possessiveness over her, and knowing her lips have never been enjoyed by another man only intensifies it. He leans towards her and says, "Just follow my lead. Don't think too hard about any of it." As he talks, he keeps moving closer until his lips close over hers.

Guinevere leaves her lips slightly parted for him, hoping she was correct to do so. His tongue slowly finds hers, and she instinctively meets it. It feels strange, but very, very nice, and she begins to relax, even letting him lean her back so she is fully reclined on the pillows with him over her.

Arthur lifts his head and stares down at her a moment. "You are a fast learner," he says, lowering his head and kissing her with more ardor, hoping it's not too soon. Then he slowly, cautiously moves his hand to her body, resting it on her ribs. She doesn't flinch, so he allows his thumb to stroke the side of her breast. She still doesn't react beyond continuing to kiss him.

"I'm going to kiss your neck now," he murmurs, moving lower to trail soft kisses down her neck that make the entire left side of her body erupt in gooseflesh. She sighs very quietly, and he moves his hand again, caressing more of her breast but continuing to stay to the side.

She still doesn't move. In fact, her hands are just resting on the bed. He places a kiss just at the swell of her breast, then sits up to look down at her. "Are you all right?" he asks. He doesn't have a lot of experience, but he has enough to know she should at least be _moving._

"Yes," she answers. "Thank you for being so patient with me."

Arthur is puzzled. When he looks at her, he sees clear signs of arousal, yet she lies there like she is simply tolerating his attention. He furrows his brows and asks, "Are you… are you not enjoying yourself?"

She blinks, thrown again by his question. She is enjoying it very much, but she had been instructed that a proper wife should not appear over-eager or wanton in the marriage bed. Confused, she looks away, then back up at him. "Should I be?"

"Well, yes," he answers, taking her hands and helping her to sit up again. A thought occurs to him. "Guinevere, from whom did you receive your… education about tonight?"

She bites her lower lip, then answers, "One of the Holy Sisters," she answers.

 _Oh dear._ He closes his eyes a second. "And what, exactly, did she tell you? About how to behave in our bed, I mean," he asks, taking her hand.

She looks down at their joined hands and answers, "She said, 'Just lie back and let him do what he will.'" She lifts her gaze and asks, "Is that wrong?"

He scrunches his face up a bit, and half nods, half shrugs. "Well, there's really no 'wrong' way to do this, as far as I understand. But your father would have done us both a better service if he had hired a woman from the local brothel to educate you instead of a nun."

Shocked, Guinevere gasps, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth.

He gently peels her hand from her mouth, gives her a sympathetic smile, and asks, "How can someone who's never done this tell you what you should be doing?" He pauses to kiss her hand, which he is still holding. "She's never actually been with a man, so how would she know? As of right now, you have more experience than she does, Guinevere."

"Oh…"

"Not only that, every person is different. And the only person that really knows what I want from my wife in our marriage bed is me, and…" he pauses, his brows knitting, "I'm not even sure I know what that is yet myself." He chuckles. "I don't have a whole lot of experience either, you see."

"You don't?" she asks, feeling a bit better for that knowledge.

"No," he simply answers, knowing now is not the time for details. "So relax," he says, kissing her. "Do what feels right to you, not what you think I want or what you've been told." He already knows he doesn't want her to do what she was told. He wants active participation from his lovely wife.

She stares at him in disbelief for a moment before answering, "I'll try."

He smiles and kisses her again. "We're both learning, Love," he assures her with another kiss. "But I know you definitely should enjoy this, too. I _want_ you to enjoy it."

"You do?" she asks.

"Of course I do."

"But I don't know what—"

He stops her lips with another kiss, lingering over her lips this time. She eagerly meets his questing tongue, and they take a few moments indulging in each other before Arthur speaks again. "People have been doing this for centuries with absolutely no instruction," he says, smiling fondly at her. "Forget what the Holy Sister told you."

"I will try," she repeats.

"The first thing you can do," he says, turning her hand in his, "is touch me." He presses her hand to his chest.

He is warm and solid, and she can feel his heartbeat beneath her palm. He leans down to kiss her again, and she keeps her hand there, noting how the beat speeds up the longer they kiss.

"Do you feel my heart beating for you?" he murmurs, trailing down to her neck again.

"Yes," she whispers, her fingers curling into his shirt. She doesn't quite know how she wound up on her back again, but she decides it really doesn't matter.

"I'm going to take my shirt off," he tells her, pecking her lips once more before sitting up and pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside. When he returns, she returns her hand to his chest, bringing a smile to his lips.

"You're warm," she observes. She bravely moves her hand, marveling at how his light chest hair is rough and soft at the same time.

"I'm usually warm," he absently answers, biting back the groan clamoring to escape his throat, not wanting to frighten her into removing her hand. Her touch is everything he wants. He leans down to kiss her again, and is rewarded with her other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

When the groan slips out, she gasps, but does not shrink away. A moment later, her hand moves, and he thinks she's going to remove it, but then he feels her slender fingers threading through his hair.

"Mmm," he hums, moving down to kiss her neck again. His hand caresses the other side, then slides down to return to her breast, this time fully closing over it.

She squeaks, but doesn't protest. He skims his thumb over her taut nipple and she inhales sharply.

"Breathe, Guinevere," Arthur says, kissing her collarbone. She exhales. "You can make noise," he adds. "It helps me learn what you like," he says, lifting his head. He kisses the end of her nose, then moves to her shoulder, sliding the strap of her gown down and chasing it with his lips.

 _Do not cry out like a wanton_. The nun's words sound in Guinevere's brain and she tries to ignore them. Forget them. Her husband wants her to respond. She feels her gown slip lower on one side and pushes back a very brief moment of panic, reminding herself that this is right. Everything he does feels so good that it's not difficult.

He lightly skims his hand down her side until he gets to the skirt of her gown, where he begins raising the hem, just until his hand finds skin. "Oh," he groans against her neck. Her skin is incredibly soft under his sword-roughened palm, softer than the silk of her gown he thinks.

Another first for Guinevere. She's never had a man touch her bare leg before. She's never been touched remotely close to this way by anyone, ever, but now that she has, she understands why she was sheltered from such things. _It feels too good._ She allows her hands to rove a little, learning the shape of him, all broad shoulders and hard muscles. He seems to like her touch, and that makes her grow a bit bolder.

"Good," he murmurs, his hand now on her thigh. She's not sure if he's referring to what she's doing or what he's doing. Neither is he. Suddenly, he lifts his head. "May I remove your gown?" he asks. When she hesitates, she adds, "We don't have to… only if you want to." She bites her lower lip and nods, holding his gaze for the first time all night. He smiles and shifts. "I'll take my trousers off first," he offers, moving to stand beside the bed.

Her eyes widen when he drops his trousers, immediately focusing on the place at which she was explicitly told _not_ to stare. _How is that going to…?_ She tears her eyes away and looks up at him.

He is giving her a fond but amused look. "Don't worry," he says, offering his hand.

She looks at it a moment, then realizes she can't remove her gown if she's lying on the bed. She places her hand in his and stands beside him, feeling strange because he is naked and she isn't. Yet.

One strap is still off her shoulder, so she reaches up to the other. Arthur stops her. "Wait." She gives him a confused look. "I believe I asked if _I_ might remove your gown," he reminds her.

Guinevere drops her hand and wills herself to be still as he comes closer. She lowers her gaze, but immediately lifts it again when she realizes lowering her gaze means looking directly at _that_ part of him. Her cheeks flood with heat once more, and she wonders if she will ever stop blushing in his presence.

He softly cups her cheek, gently kissing her once, then slides his hand down her neck to the shoulder that still has its strap where it belongs. "Your skin is so soft," he says, his hand lingering on the side of her neck as his thumb gently caresses the hollow of her throat. Then he moves it to her shoulder, sliding the strap down.

The gown is designed to be easily removed, and the white silk slithers down over her body like water, pooling at her feet.

Her first instinct is to cover herself, but his open admiration of her body along with the fact that he is already naked gives her the strength to keep her hands at her sides.

He cannot find any words that even come close to describing how sublimely magnificent she looks. He gapes at her so long she begins to wonder if he is all right.

"Arthur? Are you—"

She is swept into his arms before she can finish her question, her words being hungrily kissed away. She feels her feet moving, feels the bed behind her knees, then beneath her, feels the hard length of him pressing against her. It's too much and not enough, and her head is spinning.

His hands and lips feel like they are everywhere, touching and kissing. When he closes his lips around one of her nipples and swirls his tongue around it, she finally makes a real sound, a moan that, while soft, is definitely distinct. He cannot stop himself from grinning, and moves up to kiss her lips. She seems to be more relaxed now, and is deliberately but shyly allowing her hands to explore.

Arthur decides to take the next step, skimming his hand over Guinevere's flat stomach, over to her hip, then her thigh. "Open your legs for me, Love," he whispers in her ear, then sucks her earlobe into his mouth, lightly biting it. To his surprise, she obeys, moving her legs apart a small amount. He slides his hand around her thigh, moving inward, encouraging to widen them more. "A little more," he prompts.

Guinevere has never been drunk, but she thinks it might feel something like this. She's lightheaded and feels like she's not in complete control of her actions. Her inhibitions are lowered, his whispered words with his lips brushing her ear making her not only willing to do his every bidding, but eager.

When his finger slowly, gently probes between her legs, she gasps his name and grabs his hair. "Oh," she says, releasing her grip on his hair. She is just about to apologize when she hears his low chuckle.

He kisses the side of her neck and says, "Forgive me. I should have warned you," he apologizes.

"It's all right," she answers. "It was just new. Good… I think, but new."

He moves his finger, groaning at how wet she already is. "Oh, Guinevere," he murmurs, placing another sucking kiss on the side of her neck, taking care to not leave a mark there.

She makes a quiet mewling noise as his fingers continue their exploration, her thighs wanting to both part further and press back together at the same time. "Oh goodness…" she breathes.

He lifts his head. "Have you never touched yourself here?" he asks.

She avoids his eyes and answers, "Sister Lydia said it was a sin."

Arthur bites back his laughter and gently turns her face back to his. He kisses her and says, "That is not an answer to the question I asked."

Guinevere presses her lips together, then admits, "I… may have gotten curious… once or twice."

He begins kissing down her neck again and resumes teasing her with his finger, now adding a second one. "Once or twice is all, hmm?" he asks.

"I… can't say I kept count…" she breathily answers. "But it wasn't often. Oh… or… recent."

"Mmm," he noncommittally replies, busy concentrating on what he is doing.

"I tried to imagine… what you would be li… oh my… when I was… Arthur!" she cries out in surprise when he slides a finger inside her.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, kissing her closed eyelids.

"No," she replies.

He slides his finger in and out a few times. "You are so wet for me," he murmurs, kissing his way back to her lips.

"That's good, yes?" she asks in between kisses. The guilt she felt over exploring her body the few times she tried it prevented her from bringing herself to completion, so these are all new sensations for her.

"Very good," he answers. "It means… mmm… it means I am doing my job correctly." He kisses her deeply, then circles his thumb around her most sensitive spot while his finger is still inside.

"Ohhhhh…" she moans again, feeling a warm anticipatory feeling she can't quite pin down building from where his hand is. It's the most pleasurable thing she's ever felt and she wants to chase it. Wants to reach the summit of whatever this feeling is, but… not quite yet.

"Guinevere," Arthur says, his voice low, "I want you to let go… I want you to have your pleasure, your release first, because you may not once I…"

She can only nod, knowing there will be pain once he breaks her maidenhead. She's fairly certain he hasn't broken it yet, even though his finger is still pumping in and out. But she knows his finger is nowhere near as thick as the part she feels against her thigh.

He moves down to kiss her breasts again, licking and sucking her nipples as he did before, remembering how she liked it. That, coupled with his hand between her legs, has her reaching that summit in short order.

Her back suddenly arches against him and she cries out, clutching his head and slamming her thighs together, trapping and stilling his hand.

After a moment, she relaxes, sighing, "Arthur…" and he withdraws his hand.

Not wanting to alarm her, he suppresses the almost overwhelming urge to lick his fingers, wipes his hand on the sheet, then kisses her. "You are so beautiful, Guinevere," he says. Watching her ecstasy was the single most amazing thing he's seen to date, and he knows that if he doesn't have her soon, he's going to explode.

He kisses her, brushing her hair away from her face, and slides himself between her legs. She parts them easily and willingly for him, and he reaches back and pulls her knees up, bending her legs to frame his hips. "I am sorry for the pain," he apologizes, kissing her.

"I know you cannot avoid it," she responds, reaching her hand up and touching his cheek.

"Try to relax," he says. "I understand it will hurt less if you do."

She nods and he reaches down between them. She can't really see what he's doing, but feels something slot into place like it's supposed to be there. She instinctively tilts her hips, and he kisses her, hoping to bring her some pleasure, or at least distract her a little bit.

When she seems sufficiently enthralled in the kiss, he thrusts forward, quickly but not forcefully. He grunts, nearly overcome by the feeling of being sheathed within her; she squeaks and digs her fingernails into his shoulders.

"Shh," he soothes, kissing her. He opens his eyes and sees a tear slip out, so he reaches up and thumbs it away. "I won't move until you say I can," he adds, hoping he is able to hold on. It's been over a year since someone else has touched him, and about two since he's done this. He's balancing on the very edge of sanity, but knows his discomfort is trivial compared to hers.

She relaxes her hands, leaving them on his shoulders. The initial pain was sharp, like a cut, but eased away to a dull burn. _It feels more strange than anything, having a part of someone else inside me. It's not… bad, though. Just different._ She takes a deep breath, shifts her hips slightly to see how it feels, then says, "I'm all right."

"You're certain?" he asks. She nods, and he kisses her again, pulling his hips back, then returning, moving slowly because he can see she is still uncomfortable. As she gradually relaxes, he moves faster. When she starts making small, sweet noises with each stroke, he about loses his mind, dropping his forehead against hers just before he floods into her, his body stilling, taut, for several seconds before slumping over her.

Arthur gently disengages himself from her, rolling to the side. He reaches over, fingers questing for hers. Guinevere willingly slips her hand into his. "I'm sorry I was so much trouble, my lord," she says.

He abruptly sits up and looks down at her, his face incredulous. "Guinevere," he says, even looking a bit hurt by her apology, "did I give any indication that I was… displeased or disappointed with you in any way?"

She looks away. "No, my lord."

He drags his finger down her cheek, then under her chin, pressing upwards slightly until she looks at him. "Arthur," he reminds her. He kisses her forehead. "You were wonderful and sweet," he says. "I enjoyed myself immensely, in fact." _I truly did. Is it possible my father made a good choice for me?_

"I'm glad," she replies with a small smile.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asks, his hand straying to her hair, wrapping a curl around his finger. "I didn't hurt you too much?"

Again, Guinevere isn't ready for this question. She's beginning to think that she was very ill-prepared for her wedding night and Arthur was right when he said she should forget what Sister Lydia told her, because the nun has been completely wrong about everything except the pain, which was even less than she made it sound like it would be. "I did enjoy myself," she answers, lifting her chin as he begins kissing her neck. "And you didn't hurt me any more than I expected. Less, in fact," she adds, her voice growing breathy. She had heard many things about Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. Charming, yes. Handsome, many times. Great warrior, frequently. But "patient, understanding, and extremely affectionate" were never mentioned. _Is it possible that I am the first to see this side of him?_

"It won't hurt next time," he says. "Did Sister… Lydia? tell you that?"

"She mentioned it, but only because I asked," she says, pressing her lips together. When Arthur laughs, she lets her laughter out as well.

"Come here," he says, beginning to pull her against his side.

"May I secure my hair first?" she asks, allowing herself to be brought closer. "I generally twist it into a plait for sleeping so it doesn't tangle, but if you prefer I leave it loose—"

"Oh. Please, do what you need to do," he answers, releasing her. "How you keep your hair is your choice, not mine," he adds, clasping his hands behind his head, watching as she sits up, mindful of keeping the sheet around her torso.

She deftly deals with her hair, thinking about his last words and how he seems to be quite a different person from the man for whom she spent her entire young life being prepared. Different in a perplexing, but very good way.

"Oh dear," Guinevere says, looking around.

"What is it?" Arthur asks, sitting up.

"I left my ribbon in the pocket of my robe."

As she tries to decide how to best retrieve the ribbon without undoing her hair or brazenly walking around the room in naught but her skin, Arthur does just that: casually swings out of bed, walks over to her robe, and fishes the red ribbon from her pocket.

"Here we are," he says, handing it to her with a smile.

"Thank you," she whispers her answer and then ties the end of her braid.

"Now then," he says, sliding back into bed. "Where were we? Oh, yes." He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her back down (drawing a small yelp of surprise from her), guiding her to curl against him with her head on his shoulder. He smoothes the blankets over them and they lie quietly together for several minutes. "Guinevere?"

"Yes?" She looks up at him.

"There is something I need from you," he says. She waits, blinking twice. "I want you to always be honest with me."

"Of course," she immediately answers.

He lifts her hand and kisses it. "It's just something that's very important to me," he elaborates, wanting her to understand why. "People aren't always completely honest with royalty. As you are probably aware," he says, looking down at her. She nods. "And my own father…" he sighs, shaking his head. "He says things; he does the opposite. He feels he is above the standard rules by which most people live because he is the king. I question him and he reassures me. Then he does as he pleases anyway."

"That sounds very frustrating," Guinevere says. She knows Uther is not exactly pleasant. He has a reputation for being a bit of a tyrant, so she isn't surprised to learn that Uther the man is just as unlikeable. She is very reassured to learn that Arthur recognizes his father's flaws and does not wish to repeat or continue his mistakes.

"It is. At this point, I can only hope to one day undo some of the more harmful things he's done," he says, confirming her thoughts. He sighs again, and seems to snap out of his pensive mood. "But look at me, talking of such heavy things on our wedding night. I apologize, my sweet," he says, kissing her forehead. "I really don't want to discuss affairs of state in our private quarters, much less our bed."

"Is…" she begins to ask, then stops.

"Yes? Please," he prompts.

"Is that why you requested we have shared quarters?"

"One of the reasons," he answers. "It just… I thought it would be a good idea… I…"

"You do not need to explain," she says, noting his struggle to find the right words.

"But I want to. I want our marriage to be more than an alliance, Guinevere. I want it to work. I want us to be happy together," he says. "I don't know you well yet, but… I like you. I hope to one day love you," he admits, and already knows that loving her is a very distinct possibility in a future nearer than he would have thought. "And I reasoned that if we had separate rooms, it would only give us an excuse to not spend time together. Getting to know one another."

She lifts up, looking down at him with a soft smile on her face. "I like you, too, Arthur. Very much," she says. "And I also want to get to you know better." Pulling courage from some unknown location, she leans down and kisses him. "Very much," she adds.

They kiss for some time until he begins to feel stirrings again and knows they need to stop. "Guinevere," he rasps, gently pulling away. "We should…"

"Oh," she replies, feeling more disappointed than she probably should.

"I want to, believe me," he says. "But your body needs to recover. Heal." He kisses her briefly.

"Oh," she repeats, understanding now. Sister Lydia did not mention that, and Guinevere honestly never thought about it, but reasons it does make sense. She starts to move away from him and he tightens his arm.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"I… was going to sleep… on my pillow," she answers. "Should I not?" Her face scrunches up a little.

"Well…" he says, smiling a little at her adorable expression. "I was rather hoping you would be content enough to stay where you are…"

"Oh," she softly exclaims, settling back in against him. He really is quite comfortable to lie on.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks, reaching over with one long arm to pinch out the single candle still burning.

"Yes," she answers, wondering if she'll ever grow accustomed to his concern for and interest in her happiness and well-being. It's not at all what she was told to expect. "Are you?"

"Extremely." He kisses her forehead. "Good night, Wife. I look forward to getting to know you better."

"Good night… Husband," she replies.

xXx

"Tell me, Arthur, do you still think the princess is a 'boring baby'?" Uther asks, giving his son what he believes to be a sly look.

His question catches Arthur off guard, and he stops just inside the dining hall, Guinevere on his arm in a beautiful crimson gown. "What on earth are you talking about?" Arthur returns, resuming his steps.

"That is what you said when Thomas and I arranged this marriage. You called the princess a 'boring baby' and refused to play with her," Uther explains, chuckling.

Guinevere watches, surprised, as Arthur openly rolls his eyes at his father the king. "Good Lord, Father, I was three years old," he says, pulling his wife's chair out for her. "Good morning, King Thomas, Prince Elyan," he adds, then nods at Merlin, who begins serving him.

Guinevere's maid, Sefa, follows suit. Whatever Merlin puts on Arthur's plate, she also puts on Guinevere's, in a smaller portion.

"Good morning," Thomas replies, and Elyan follows suit. "Guinevere, how are you this morning, darling?"

"I am doing well, Father, thank you," she replies. He locks eyes with her for a moment, and she smiles, silently telling him she is not speaking empty words. She truly is fine.

Talk turns to idle chitchat and Guinevere's mind begins to wander as she quietly eats, thinking back to this morning. She woke up a trifle confused, for a split second not remembering where she was or why she wasn't wearing a nightgown. Then Arthur stirred behind her, his arm tightening around her, and everything came flooding back. When he kissed her shoulder and murmured a soft "Good morning" while nuzzling the back of her neck, she found herself wanting to turn around and offer herself to him, which resulted in her cheeks feeling like they were on fire. _The prince will not like it if you are over eager for his attention._ Then she remembered Arthur's words last night, but she _also_ remembered him saying she needed to heal. She moved her hips and legs and discovered that he was right. She was a bit sore.

Arthur seemed reluctant to leave their bed, but eventually unlocked the door. Hilda came bustling in with Sefa and what appeared to be an army of pages laden with buckets. The older maid had bundled Guinevere into a bath behind a screen and whisked away the marital sheets with an efficiency that made her head spin.

By the time Guinevere was out of her bath, the bed was remade and Arthur was dressed. He once again told her she was beautiful, kissed her hands and her lips, and informed her they were expected to join their fathers for breakfast.

"Guinevere?" Arthur asks, seeing her faraway look.

"Yes, Arthur?" she replies, looking at him. "Forgive me, my mind was wandering, I'm afraid," she apologizes, looking down.

"Quite all right. We were just talking about the tournament we're hosting later this summer in honor of Father's birthday, so it may not have been terribly interesting to you…" he says, trailing off as he realizes he honestly doesn't know. "Or would it have been?"

"I enjoy tournaments," she answers, her fork poking at a sausage on her plate. "What type of tournament will it be, Sire?" she asks Uther before cutting a slice of the sausage and putting it in her mouth.

Thomas notices she doesn't actually seem to like the meat, but she eats it anyway, and a twinge of guilt twists his stomach.

"I was thinking a joust, my dear," Uther answers. "I do so love a good joust."

"Could that possibly be because that was an area of battle at which you excelled, Uther?" Thomas asks, chuckling. "Will you be participating?"

Uther laughs. "Not with this one," he points his fork at Arthur, "also competing. It wouldn't do to have the king lose to his own son."

"Oh, I don't know," Thomas airily answers. "The people might be reassured by such a thing. To see that they will be well-protected in the future."

"And they would also see that their _current_ king is weaker than one who has only just become a man," Uther answers, his voice taking on a sharp edge.

There is a moment of tense silence. Uther's bitterness is palpable, as is Thomas and Elyan's discomfort. Guinevere can feel the anger radiating from her husband and wants to comfort him, but doesn't know how.

"King Uther, do you have any other entertainments planned for your birthday celebration?" she brightly asks, bravely deciding to try and redirect the conversation. Her heart is pounding; this is the first time she's spoken up about anything and she isn't sure how it will be received. She feels Arthur's hand gently squeeze her knee under the table, and she turns to see him give her a very small smile of thanks.

Uther turns his head and blinks in surprise at her. "Oh! Yes. There will be a great feast with jugglers and fire-eaters," he answers. "And I wished to ask you: Would you like to bestow a favor of some sort on the tournament's victor?"

"I would be honored, Sire," she answers.

"As I am sure it will be your husband who wins, I thought you might enjoy doing so," Uther declares, nodding once.

xXx

Thomas and Elyan prepare to leave shortly after breakfast, and the King of Cameliard manages to steal a moment to speak privately with his daughter while their horses are being prepared.

He guides her to the edge of the courtyard, away from everyone else and hugs her close. "Goodbye, my daughter," he says. "I want nothing but happiness for you," he adds. When he releases her, he notices she looks slightly troubled. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Father," she says, but her face still betrays her.

"Guinevere, you have your mother's face and it tells me something is bothering you. I cannot leave you here knowing you are upset," he presses.

"I'm not upset, Papa," she says, glancing over to where Arthur is standing. He's talking with Elyan, far enough away to be out of earshot. "I'm… confused. He's not at all like Lady Nimueh said he would be," she admits. "Or Sister Lydia," she quietly adds, blushing.

Thomas' face immediately turns stormy. "Did he hurt you? Gods help me – no, Gods help _him_ if he—"

"No, not at all," she immediately says, placing her hand on his arm to still him. "Just the opposite, in fact. He has been nothing but kind and gentle with me. Sweet and… affectionate," she says.

The king nods, having already noted his son-in-law's demeanor with his daughter. He is pleased to learn that it was not all a ruse.

Guinevere glances over at her husband and continues. "And so patient; much more patient than I was led to believe," she informs. Her brows furrow. "I don't know what to do."

Thomas feels a wave of guilt wash over him. _I was so wrong to agree to that demand._ Pride and embarrassment keep him from admitting his grievous mistake to his beloved daughter and he says, "Gwen. You are a clever girl, much smarter than most. Your instincts are always good." He kisses her forehead. "Follow them. Do what feels right to you, and you will be fine."

She looks up at him with her wide, trusting brown eyes, and it compels him to admit one truth he has learned to her. "Arthur is not his father. I can see that much."

"Father, we are ready," Elyan calls, holding their two horses.

"Come. Bid farewell to your brother," Thomas says, tucking Guinevere's hand into the bend of his elbow.


	3. Chapter 3

" _The goal in marriage is not to think alike, but to think together." -Robert C. Dodds_

The first few weeks of marriage were pleasant enough. Arthur took some good-natured teasing from his knights when he resumed training three days later. Guinevere spent her time learning her way around and acquainting herself with the kingdom. She was taught all about Camelot in her lessons, but now that she is actually here, she is eager to see things first hand.

Especially after Arthur turned out to be quite different than she had been told to expect. She's not unhappy at all with her husband, but is still trying to adjust. She is very grateful that he is different in a positive way, because while she was blindsided by him being kinder and more thoughtful, she cannot even fathom what she would do if he was an abusive brute.

Motion a distance away catches Arthur's attention and he looks over to see Guinevere walking towards the training fields, the skirt of her burgundy dress blowing in the breeze. Her dark curls lift away from her shoulders, caught on the wind, and she looks a bit ethereal in the sunlight.

"My lord," Sir Leon prompts, and Arthur gives his wife a small wave before returning his attention to the men. Guinevere comes to a stop far enough away to not be a distraction but still close enough to watch and listen to the end of their training.

After about fifteen minutes, the men start to disperse, and Arthur walks to his wife. "Hello, Love," he greets, kissing her cheek.

"You are very good," she says, granting him a smile.

"Thank you," he answers, offering his arm. "You should have come out earlier."

"I did not know if you would welcome my presence," she replies.

"You are always welcome to watch. I like having someone for whom to show off," he grins. "You look beautiful today."

He told her so this morning, but she smiles and says, "Thank you."

As they walk to the castle, Arthur looks down at her, noting that her dress is red. _Again._ His brow furrows, wondering why the fact that she has worn nothing but shades of red bothers him. Why he even cares about what she is wearing, for that matter. She has been wonderful in every way for these first two weeks. Pleasant. Sweet. Clever. Agreeable.

Then it hits him: She's a little _too_ agreeable. She doesn't kowtow to him, but she doesn't disagree with him, ever. She rarely takes the initiative with him in anything, always waiting for him to speak or act before doing so herself. He was honestly shocked when he saw her coming to watch the training.

As they walk into the castle, it occurs to him that he's been quiet the entire time they've walked, which is unusual as he finds his words flow quite freely in her presence. _She should be asking me if I am well. She should be puzzled at my silence._

Guinevere _is_ puzzled at his silence, but says nothing, as she believes it is not her place to ask. _Do not pry into your husband's affairs._ It is a different voice in her head this time, telling her to hold her questions.

"Are you very hungry yet?" Arthur asks, pausing in the corridor. It is nearly lunchtime, but he thinks he wants to talk with his wife before they eat.

"I can wait if you wish to wait," she answers.

It's exactly the kind of answer he expected, and it cements his resolve that they need to have a conversation. He takes her hand, kisses it, then walks with her to their chambers.

"Will you sit with me?" he asks, closing the doors.

"Of course," she answers, following him to a bench near the window.

He takes her hands, not sure where to begin. He doesn't want to make accusations, and has a feeling he needs to handle this delicately. Then he notices she doesn't even ask him what is on his mind.

"This is a beautiful dress, Guinevere," he starts, releasing one hand to rub the fabric between his fingers.

"Thank you," she answers, wondering why he is suddenly behaving so strangely.

"All your gowns have been quite lovely, but… is there a reason why they are all red?" he asks.

She blinks. "Is red no longer your favorite color, my lord?"

"Arthur," he gently reminds her, kissing her hand. He has noticed she reverts to formalities when she's nervous or uncomfortable. "And yes, red is my favorite color, but that does not mean you must always wear it."

"What color would you like me to wear?" she asks.

"Whatever color pleases you."

Her brow furrows for just a moment. "It is my duty to please _you,_ my lo—Arthur," she answers.

He briefly closes his eyes. "What is your favorite food?" he asks. "Do you prefer mead, ale, or wine?"

"Herb crusted capon and ale," she answers, almost like she is reciting.

"Those are _my_ preferences," he gently replies. "What do _you_ like?"

"Arthur?" she asks, confused.

"Guinevere," he lifts her hand and kisses it again. "I… I am honored that you are trying so hard to please me. I truly am. But what I really want is for you to be your own person. Have your _own_ opinions on things. It's lovely that you know so much about me, but I should not be your entire world, Love."

She lowers her gaze to her lap. "I do not know if I know how to do that," she admits.

He lifts her chin. "It would please me for you to please yourself," he says. "Do you understand?"

"I'm not sure," she answers, tears welling in her eyes. "My whole life I've been taught…" She breaks off, startled when he gently wipes the fallen tears with his thumbs.

"Go on," he whispers, her admission setting wheels into motion inside his head.

"I have been raised to be your wife," she says. "I was educated, of course, but outside of my regular lessons, I studied you, Arthur," she tells him. "Your likes and dislikes. How to be a good wife to you. I… I was told a good wife sees to her husband's needs, submits to his wishes, and doesn't disagree with him."

His mouth sets in a hard line as he realizes who it likely is he _really_ needs to talk to before he and Guinevere can go any further. She sees his expression and bites her lower lip. "You're angry with me," she says, delicately withdrawing her hands from his.

He takes them back and kisses her knuckles, then turns one hand and kisses her palm. "I am angry, but not with you," he says. "I promise." He leans forward and kisses her lips. "I am angry with the person who saw fit to see to it that you were raised this way."

"My father?" she asks, her eyes widening.

"No," he answers, standing. " _My_ father. This reeks of his interference." He gently pulls her to her feet. "Guinevere," he says. "I'm going to have a few choice words with King Uther. Would you do something for me while I'm gone?"

"Of course," she immediately answers.

"I want you to think – _really_ think – about what it is _you_ like," he says, touching the end of her nose with the word "you".

"I was told my opinions are of no importance," she whispers, tears welling in her eyes again. "I was told…"

"Shh," he soothes, wiping her tears and kissing her lips. He looks into her eyes and says, "Your opinions are very important to me."

Unable to even process this yet, she gives him a small smile because she thinks that's what he wants, then falters, realizing her reason for smiling. "All right," she answers. "I will try."

He kisses her forehead. "I'm especially interested in opinions on things that have nothing to do with me," he clarifies, just to make certain she understands. When her face clouds again, he adds, "We _should_ have some differences. That's what makes life interesting, you see? Just because we have differences does not mean we will not get along. I would much prefer a wife who challenges me. A wife who is not afraid to speak up and tell me when she thinks I am doing something wrong."

"You would?" she asks. "That is not what I was taught."

"That is because you were taught by well-meaning but ignorant individuals who thought they knew better and didn't bother asking _me_ what I preferred in _my_ wife. I am going to make mistakes, and I need someone who isn't afraid to let me know when that happens. So I can learn from them and hopefully not repeat them. I want an equal, not another subject. A _partner,_ " he says, smiling down at her. "I am not unhappy with you," he clarifies, stroking her cheek. "Not at all. But a wife and future queen who flits about the castle agreeing with my every word is…" he sighs, shaking his head a bit.

"I think I understand," she says. She wants to say more, but isn't brave enough yet. She will wait until he has had his words with his father first. Her mind is still reeling from this revelation. And she's not even sure if she knows how to do what he asks. How to be herself. Who the real Guinevere really is.

xXx

Uther isn't in the dining hall, so Arthur heads for the king's chambers, figuring he must be eating in private. He flies past the guards outside his father's doors, who don't even try to stop him when they see his demeanor.

The king is dining alone at a long table, and he looks up in surprise when the doors fly open without warning.

Arthur slams his hands down on the table top beside his father, leans over him, and says, "Next time you go about planning my life, perhaps try consulting _me_ first."

"Whatever are you blustering about?" Uther asks, wiping his face with his napkin.

"Guinevere. My wife that you saw fit to turn into some sort of…" he pauses, grasping for the right words, " _puppet_. You saw fit to force her to suppress her own personality so she would become what _you_ thought would be a perfect wife for _me._ "

"She _is_ a perfect wife for you," Uther blithely replies. "She knows everything about you. She won't criticize or chastise you. She won't—"

"She won't have any bloody opinions of her own!" Arthur yells, pushing off of the table. "I don't want a wife that agrees with my every word. I want a wife who is a companion, a partner. Even a friend. Someone with a different perspective who can give me wise counsel when I am king, not just smile, nod, and say, 'Whatever you think is best'. Someone with her own personality!"

Uther stands. "Lower your voice," he growls, walking to close the doors that Arthur has left ajar. "You ungrateful child! I bargained with Thomas for hours for this… for _you_ , and this is the thanks I get?"

"Did I ask? And did you once bother to find out what qualities _I_ might want in my wife once I was old enough? No."

"You don't know what you want," Uther coldly sniffs.

"That doesn't mean you get to dictate what I receive!" Arthur yells, ignoring his father's earlier words.

Uther purses his lips and says, "I am the king and your father, which means I do indeed have that right. I did this for y—"

"You didn't do this for me, you did it for _you_. For the kingdom. Because you wanted access to their ports," Arthur interjects. "I am just a pawn… _Guinevere i_ s a pawn in this grand scheme of yours."

"Yes, you are a pawn, because you are my son and it is your duty to do what is best for the kingdom," Uther haughtily says. "It is your duty to do as I say… to marry who I see fit…"

"But it is not your place to… to brainwash an innocent girl!"

"I did not brainwash her. You're being ridiculous." Uther dismisses the notion with a wave of his hand and goes to sit in a plush upholstered chair.

"You did," Arthur says in a low voice. "Or whomever you sent to _tutor_ her did." He pauses. "You _did_ send the tutor, didn't you?" he asks, but it is not really a question.

"Of course I did. Do you think I would trust that spineless Thomas to adequately follow through on his own?" Uther unapologetically replies.

"Whom did you send?" Arthur asks in a low voice.

The king finally has the decency to look a little embarrassed, and mumbles an answer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Arthur says, stepping closer.

"Lady Nimueh," Uther loudly replies.

"You sent your _mistress_ to tutor my future wife?" Arthur bellows, incredulous.

"Stop bloody yelling!" Uther yells. He clears his throat. "Yes. I needed to… to bring certain aspects of my relationship with her to an end, and this was a convenient way of doing so. I kept up regular correspondence with her to keep her informed, and when the princess' training was complete, I… encouraged her to stay in Cameliard."

Arthur coldly stares at his father. After a moment, he says, "You disgust me," and stomps out of the room before Uther can respond.

xXx

Arthur doesn't immediately return to his rooms. A nearly-frantic Merlin finds his master a short time later, wandering the corridors, muttering to himself.

"Arthur! I've been looking everywhere for you," Merlin says, breathing heavily as he falls into step beside him. "When you didn't show up for lunch, I checked your rooms… and found a troubled-looking Princess Guinevere sitting at your desk, frowning at a piece of parchment."

Arthur stops. "Was she all right?" he asks, his face filled with concern.

"So… you two aren't having an argument then?" Merlin asks instead of answering.

"No!" Arthur exclaims. "I…" He exhales, runs his hand through his hair, and looks around, making sure they won't be heard. Merlin has been his servant since they were both boys, and is one of the few people the prince completely trusts. "We are not fighting. I found out my father sent Nimueh – bloody _Nimueh_ – to go and train Guinevere to be what _he_ thought _I_ would want in my future wife," he quietly informs, then starts walking again, this time towards his quarters.

"What?" Merlin asks, incredulous. "He did this without telling you?"

"Do you think I would have agreed to such a thing?" Arthur returns.

"Definitely not," Merlin answers. They are approaching the kitchens, so he asks, "Would you like me to bring some lunch up to your chambers for you and the princess?"

"Yes, please," Arthur says. His stomach is all in knots, so he doesn't have much of an appetite, but he's hoping that once he sees Guinevere again it will relax enough to accept some food. "I think we'll be having dinner privately as well. I do not know when I will be ready to see my Father."

"Understood," Merlin says, nods, and ducks into the kitchens.

When Arthur walks into their chambers, he finds Guinevere just as Merlin did: at his desk, frowning at a piece of parchment. She looks up when he comes in, but says nothing. Neither does he; he simply walks over, stands behind her, and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"My father is an ass," he says, turning his face to rest his cheek on her head. His hands softly land on her shoulders.

"My father is… not the strongest ruler in the five kingdoms," she quietly admits. "Else he might not have stood for to Uther's terms."

Arthur makes a noncommittal hum and looks to see what she's written. "May I?" he asks.

She nods, and he picks it up. Her handwriting is neat and easy to read, and she has managed to list quite a few things.

 _Things I like:  
Purple  
Fish  
Dogs (not for eating)  
Sunshine, but also thunderstorms (as long as I am inside)  
Reading  
Needlepoint  
Warm weather  
Wading in a stream on a hot day  
The smell of fresh bread  
Babies  
Mead  
Honey and other sweets  
Carrots_

He thoughtfully reads each one, making mental notes. Some things, like needlepoint and honey, do not come as a total surprise as they seem fitting. Others, like fish and wading, are unexpected. _Of course she does come from a coastal kingdom, so it would make sense that she likes fish._ The mention of "babies" is not lost on him, either, but he wasn't expecting the warm feeling he got from the thought of having a few with her.

He smiles as he sees a second list at the bottom, labeled _Things I do not like:  
_

 _Whatever those sausages are that we always have for breakfast  
Yelling  
Ale  
Cold weather  
Green beans  
Addressing a room of people  
Goose and Duck (I like them as animals, but not as food)  
Pickled eggs  
The stag skull on the wall_

Chuckling, Arthur says, "That was the first stag I killed."

"Oh!" Guinevere exclaims. "Oh, dear…"

"It's all right," he answers. "You didn't know, and as I said, you _are_ allowed to have your own opinions." He holds out his hand to her. She takes it, stands, and lets him lead her to the bench by the window. "I'll have it removed if it is your wish."

"Well… now that I know the significance of it, I don't mind it so much," she says.

She looks like she has more to say, so he asks, "Is there anything you _would_ like to change in here?"

"Perhaps… one or two things," she answers.

"Whatever you would like to do, feel free," he informs. "As I said, these are your rooms, too." He sets the list aside, gathers both her hands in his, and kisses them. "And please, stop eating food you don't like."

"That should be an easy enough place to start," she quietly says, suddenly very grateful that she never has to choke down another sausage or green bean again. She has noticed Arthur really seems to like both of those things.

Merlin knocks on the door, and Arthur bids him enter, instructing him to leave the tray on the table. He does as instructed, then quietly slips out.

"These are good lists," Arthur says. "But what kinds of things do you like to do? I see needlepoint and reading, but is there anything else? How did you spend your time in Cameliard?"

"In my lessons, most of the time," she answers. "I had so many lessons that I did not have time for much else. When I wasn't in my lessons, I was often studying for them."

"What kinds of lessons did you have?" Arthur was also tutored, but he still had a fair amount of time to himself, even with knight's training.

"Oh, the standard things: Letters and numbers, the history and lineages of both Cameliard and Camelot. I even studied some science. My mother had learned some healing skills, and wished for me to learn as well."

"It is a good skill to have as the wife of a knight," Arthur replies, nodding.

"Yes," she agrees. "I also had the… other lessons…"

"With Lady Nimueh," Arthur supplies.

Guinevere looks surprised. "You know her?" she asks.

"I used to," he answers, debating whether or not to elaborate. _I asked her to be honest with me, I should give her the same courtesy._ He takes a deep breath and says, "She was Father's mistress at one time."

"Oh, thank the Gods," she sighs.

"What?" he responds, confused.

"I know you said you didn't have a lot of experience, I mean I know that _now_ , but… I had been afraid she was… _your_ mistress," she explains. "She was fairly young and rather beautiful, and seemed to know so much about you…"

"My father was feeding her information. He sent her to tutor you because he had grown bored of their association," Arthur says.

"Oh," Guinevere replies, looking mildly revolted.

He nods in agreement. "I told Father he disgusted me. Then I left. I don't know when I'm going to be able to look at him without feeling that way."

She squeezes his hands. "I…" she sighs. "I am going to write my father."

"I think that is a good idea," he agrees. "Give him a chance to explain. I know you said your father isn't very strong-willed, but please bear in mind that _my_ father is extraordinarily pushy and has a reputation for being a bit of a…"

"A bully," she quietly finishes, hoping she isn't speaking out of turn.

"Yes."

"King Uther frightens me a little," she admits.

Arthur wraps his arms around her, holding her close. "I will protect you from him. From anyone who may wish to do you harm."

Guinevere lets herself relax against him for a moment, soaking in both his physical and emotional warmth. "Why?" she softly asks.

"What do you mean? You are my wife," he simply answers, pulling away just enough to look down at her.

"But we barely know each other," she says, wondering why she is arguing.

"Doesn't change the facts. You are my wife and it is my duty to protect you," he answers. _Great, Arthur. Make it sound like an obligation._ "Not only that, I… do you remember what I said on our wedding night?"

"You want our marriage to be happy."

"And?"

"You like me and hope to one day love me," she quietly answers, shyly looking down.

"Yes. That hasn't changed, Love. I find myself liking you more each day, in fact," he admits, leaning down to kiss her. He intends for it to be a quick kiss, but his lips apparently have other ideas. Thankfully, so do hers, and all conversation ceases for several minutes.

He moves to her neck, leaning her back a bit as he kisses downwards. His hand moves on her side and something crinkles beneath it. He gropes a bit until his fingers find the source of the sound.

"What is this?" he asks, withdrawing a piece of folded parchment that was tucked into her bodice. He doesn't unfold it.

"Oh… um… another list I was making," she admits, her cheeks flushed now with embarrassment as well as arousal. Her fingers itch to snatch the parchment from his hand, so she busies them by straightening and adjusting her skirts. "You asked me to list things I liked that had nothing to do with you, but… I kept thinking of things I liked about you, so I put them on another parchment in an attempt to keep my mind orderly."

He smiles. "May I read it?" he asks, his voice almost shy. She bites her lower lip, hesitant, and he offers, "I'll make a list of things I like about you in exchange."

"That isn't necessary," she says, looking down.

"Guinevere," he replies, tenderly touching her cheek. "I want to. It's only fair."

"Very well," Guinevere consents, and he unfolds the parchment.

 _Patient, kind, gentle  
Very handsome  
Intelligent  
His hands  
His kisses  
Falling asleep in his embrace and then waking up there the next morning  
His laugh  
The way he kicks his sword up into his hand  
He thinks my opinions are important  
The way he makes me feel when we_

"When we what?" Arthur asks, already having a pretty good idea what the answer is. Their marriage bed has been rather active and pleasurable, interrupted only when Guinevere's monthly courses arrived just over a week ago. He's glad to hear that it is something she thinks about outside of the bedchamber. Because he certainly does, almost to distraction at times.

Guinevere blushes a deep dusky rose color and avoids his gaze. "Do I really need to answer?" she quietly asks.

He leans over and kisses her. "No, you don't," he answers. Then, in her ear, he murmurs, "I'm very happy to hear that I please you in our marriage bed, because you please me very much every night." Then he kisses her ear and smugly smiles when he hears the soft intake of breath he has caused. He nuzzles her neck, and suddenly feels the emptiness of his stomach. "I must feel better because I'm hungry again. Are you?" he asks.

She hesitates before answering, "A bit."

He knows her hesitation was because she was actually thinking about her answer rather than just agreeing with him, and that makes him hopeful. "Come," he stands. "We can talk more while we eat." He leads her to the table and pulls her seat out for her.

"Would you like to keep working on your lists?" he asks, serving them himself since he dismissed Merlin.

"I think… I think it might be a good idea. A good exercise for me," she answers. "To be completely honest, I don't really know a lot about what I do and do not like," she admits.

He nods. "That makes some sense. But you did a fine job."

"It was very difficult," she admits. "Because I have been… conditioned to think a certain way," she says, her brows furrowing. "Trying to separate what I have been _told_ I enjoy from what I truly do – or might – enjoy is… challenging."

He reaches across the table, taking her hand in his. "Of course it is. And I am glad to hear you saying this, if you can believe it. My father made sure you were _conditioned_ to believe these things. That's the correct word, and I'm happy you recognize it now." He lifts her hand to his lips, kissing it once, then releasing it so they can resume eating. "You are an intelligent person, Guinevere," he nods. "And that's very, very good."

She smiles brightly over his praise for a moment before it falls again. "I was told I was entirely too bookish for a girl," she says.

"Lady Nimueh again? The same tutor who told you you had to defer to me in all things?" Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yes," she admits with a sheepish smile.

"You need to forget everything she taught you. Because she is clearly an imbecile," he says, his lips twitching with mirth. When she indelicately snorts an involuntary giggle, Arthur allows his laughter to come forth. When their laughter dies down, he reaches over and strokes the back of her hand.

"Will you help me?" she asks.

"Of course I will," he answers, then leaves his seat to kneel beside hers, leaning in to kiss her. A knock sounds at the door again, and Arthur sighs, dropping his head just before his lips touch hers. "What?" he calls in a slightly annoyed voice, and the door creaks open slightly.

"My lord, King Uther is asking for you. He wishes to start the Council meeting," Sir Leon, next in command after Arthur of the Knights of Camelot, says, his tone apologetic.

"I am busy. Tell him to have the meeting without me," Arthur says, not moving from Guinevere's side.

"Sire?" Leon returns, confused. The prince has never missed a meeting before.

"Tell him I am having an important conversation with my wife," Arthur explains. "He should _know_ why," he darkly adds.

Leon pauses another moment, then says, "Yes, my lord," and quietly closes the door.

"Now," Arthur says, turning to Guinevere, "where were we?"


	4. Chapter 4

" _Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary." -Oscar Wilde_

"Do you like to ride?" Arthur asks Guinevere one morning. It is a rare day where he has no training and no meetings, and he wants to spend it with his wife. It's been a week since they found out about Uther's meddling, and they've been making an effort to find out what Guinevere enjoys doing. She also admitted to bringing along three dresses that aren't red, but the royal seamstresses have also attended her to make a few more new, non-red dresses.

"I do," Guinevere answers, cuddling deeper against him. "I also like sleeping until the sun is fully up," she adds, closing her eyes to enjoy being wrapped in his arms.

"It is up," he protests, lightly touching the end of her nose. "If you wish to sleep, feel free, but I will be getting up. I need to see about having a picnic lunch packed for us."

She opens one eye. "Picnic?" she asks, and Arthur stops trying to extract himself from the blankets and his wife.

"Mmm, I think we found something else the princess likes," he says, kissing her forehead.

She nods and closes her eyes. "Picnic _lunch_ , please," she specifies, trying not to smile.

Arthur sees her lips twitch and he laughs. He kisses her cheek and slips out of bed. "Yes, Love, _lunch._ " He stretches and walks over to a privacy screen, disappearing behind it for a minute.

Guinevere surreptitiously watches him, marveling at how at ease he seems to be without a stitch of clothing on. Not to mention he is quite pleasing to look at. When he emerges from behind the screen she quickly closes her eyes, hoping that he didn't see her peeking. She feels him drop another kiss on her cheek, then hears the soft swish of him donning a pair of trousers.

A moment later, he closes the curtains around the bed and goes to the door in search of Merlin.

Guinevere lightly dozes, but the sound of the door creaking open rouses her again. She can hear Arthur and Merlin trying to be quiet, and giggles softly to herself because they are failing miserably at it.

Finally she takes pity on them and calls to Arthur. He peeks through the split in the bed curtains a moment later.

"Did we wake you?" he asks.

"Not really," she answers.

"Breakfast is ready whenever you are," he says. "Shall I send Sefa or do you wish to sleep a little longer?"

"You can send Sefa," she answers. He begins to withdraw, and she calls him back. "Arthur?"

"Yes, Love?"

"I have two riding gowns. One of them is blue."

He grins and disappears.

xXx

It is a lovely early summer day, almost as if Arthur had specifically ordered the weather to cooperate so they would be able to enjoy their outing.

"Do you like the forest, Guinevere?" he asks, looking over at her.

"To be perfectly honest, I'm always a little uneasy in the forest," she admits. "You never know when a wild animal or bandit might pop out."

"I can deal with either one of those," he boasts, hoping to reassure her. "I promised I would protect you, didn't I?"

"You did," she answers, smiling. "Twice, I think."

"You think?"

"Was it one of the things you said at our wedding? I really don't recall much of the ceremony, I'm afraid," she says, hoping he won't be offended that she doesn't remember much of their wedding.

Thankfully, he laughs. "Well, that's a relief, because I don't either. Most of the ceremony is a blur. I remember seeing you for the first time… and kissing you for the first time." He gives her a shy smile.

"Me too," she confesses, biting her lower lip. "I don't think I will ever forget that."

"Nor I," he agrees. "Ah," he suddenly says. "This way." He leads them down a small, hidden path that Guinevere would not have even seen without Arthur's guidance, and soon they reach a secluded clearing beside a clear, shallow stream.

"Oh, Arthur, this is lovely," she sighs.

He dismounts and helps her down from her horse, his hands lingering at her waist once she is standing beside him. " _You_ are lovely… in your blue dress," he says, then leans down to kiss her.

Together they set out the blanket and basket, but decide to sit and rest a bit before tucking in.

"It's so quiet here," Guinevere says.

"I used to come here to hide when I was a boy," Arthur tells her. "I've never brought anyone here before."

She smiles at him, touched. "Thank you for sharing this with me," she says, reaching out to touch his hand.

She is still a bit shy about initiating contact, so when he feels her touch, his heart leaps. "You're welcome," he says, turning his hand to lace their fingers together. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb and quietly asks, "Would you like to read my list?"

She had nearly forgotten about his offer to make a list of the things he likes about her. "Oh! Um, all right," she answers.

He reaches into his vest and withdraws a folded parchment, which he hands to her.

 _Clever and observant  
Kind and thoughtful  
Already knows all the servants' names  
Her hair  
Her lips  
Her skin  
Her laugh  
The way she says my name  
The way she makes me feel when we_

Guinevere giggles when she reads the last item, her cheeks aflame. "Thank you," she whispers, then tucks it into her bodice, remembering that he never returned her list. She was surprised at a few things he mentioned, but since he didn't question anything on her list, she will not question his items.

"I could have added more, but I didn't want to overwhelm you. Make you uncomfortable," Arthur admits. He scoots closer and noses through her curls to kiss her neck. "Because there is much I like about you, Wife." He kisses her again and says, "My father may be a selfish tyrant," he turns her face and kisses her lips, "but he did one thing right, even if his reasons and methodology were… problematic." He nuzzles her nose with his.

She merely nods, remembering all that Arthur told her about his conversation with his father, then reaches up to run her fingers through his silken hair. "We can be thankful for that much," she agrees.

"Mmm, that's another thing I'll have to add to the list," he rumbles, his eyes going half-closed as her fingers stroke his scalp.

"You like this?" she asks, fascinated.

"Yes," he answers, then leans in to kiss her again. "Guinevere," he whispers against her lips.

"Yes?" she answers.

"I'm hungry."

She erupts into giggles again, ducking her head as she laughs. He chases her lips with his, not quite ready to let her go yet. "Arthur," she lightly protests.

"One more," he bargains, then kisses her before she can reply. "All right. Let's eat."

xXx

They stretch out on the blanket after eating, Arthur's head in Guinevere's lap, listening to the music of the birds and the stream.

"I seem to recall reading somewhere that a certain princess enjoys wading in streams on a hot day," Arthur comments after a time.

Guinevere stiffens slightly. "I only ever did it when I was a child," she admits.

"Well, then it's long overdue," he says, tilting his head back to look up at her.

"What if someone sees us?" she asks. She is warm and the stream looks lovely and cool, but she doesn't want to think about what would happen if someone happened upon them with her bare legs showing.

"No one will see us," he assures her, sitting up. "I've been here countless times and have never seen another human being come this way. Have never even seen signs that anyone but me has been here." He moves down near her feet and begins removing her boots.

"You'll come with me?" she asks, feeling somewhat helpless as he pulls her second boot off.

"Of course," he answers, pondering her stockings for a moment. He would love to reach under her skirt and slowly peel them down her long legs, but somehow he knows if he did that he would become distracted and no wading would get done by either of them.

She watches as he yanks his own boots off and sets them aside. While he is busy rolling his trouser legs up, she raises her skirts just enough to reach under them and untie the ribbons holding her stockings up and remove them. When she finishes, Arthur is giving her his full attention, and she blushes again.

"I like your legs," he says, reaching out to touch one, skimming his palm over her skin.

"Thank you," she answers. "Yours are nice too," she answers, feeling a little dumb.

He chuckles and leaps to his feet. "Come, my lady. Your stream awaits," he invites, holding his hand out to her.

She joins his laughter and takes his hand. They walk to the stream, Arthur stepping casually, Guinevere delicately, her feet much more tender than his on the rough, rocky ground.

After a few steps, Arthur seems to realize this and he scoops her up into his arms, drawing a surprised squeal from her. "Don't want you to hurt those pretty feet," he says, kissing her cheek.

She smiles, reaching up to stroke his cheek in thanks. He splashes into the water, still carrying her. She tenses for a moment, afraid that he is going to drop her in, thinking he's being funny. But he doesn't.

"Hang on to my neck," he softly says. Deciding to trust him, she does as he asks, and he slowly drops the hand holding her knees. She dangles from his neck, her body pressed against his, as he reaches down and lifts her skirts to keep them out of the water. Then he leans forward, lowering her feet into the water.

She smiles when she feels the cool water on her toes, then the smooth, flat rocks under her feet. With another whispered word from Arthur, she releases his neck and takes her gathered skirts from him. "Thank you," she says.

"I would never drop you," he replies, as though he has read her earlier thoughts.

"I know," she whispers, feeling foolish for having doubted him. It is times like this when she is reminded of how little they really know each other yet. "It was just a refl—"

"You don't need to explain, Guinevere," he kindly replies. "I understand." He is quiet a moment, pondering something in the stream near his feet. "It's asking a lot, isn't it?" he wonders aloud, taking a few idle steps in the water.

"What is?" she says, watching as a surprised frog jumps away from Arthur.

"Expecting us to just leap into being married… when we had never really even met," he answers. "Don't get me wrong, I really… _really_ like you, but… you have to admit it's rather unfair."

"Sometimes I think the commoners have it better, getting to choose their paths for the most part. Not having to do something simply because it is expected or good for the kingdom. Getting to choose one's own mate instead of having one chosen," she unthinkingly blurts, lulled by the cool water flowing around her ankles. "Oh! I…" she immediately backpedals, almost dropping her skirts to cover her mouth. She bites her lower lip instead and looks down.

"I feel the same way," he replies, and her eyes fly to his. "I used to fantasize about running away… going to a land far away where no one knows who I am…"

Guinevere stares at him with eyes as wide as saucers. "What would you do?" she asks.

"I don't know," he answers with a shrug. "Become a farmer."

She presses her lips together, trying not to laugh at the image of Arthur the farmer that has come into her head.

He angles his head at her. "Why do you do that? If you want to laugh, let it out. You don't need to wait for my approval," he says, a smile curving the corner of his lips.

"I'm sor—" Her words are cut off by her surprise as he suddenly splashes over to her and gently frames her face with his hands.

"No, I'm sorry," he apologizes, dropping his forehead against hers. "I need to remember how hard this is for you. To unlearn what you've been told for 16 years. I… I can be impatient, Guinevere, and if I push—"

"Arthur, you've been extremely patient with me," she protests, tilting her face up to brush her nose against his since her hands are occupied. "I was told that you were not a patient person, but I haven't seen any evidence to support that claim," she says.

He huffs a small laugh. "Well, I just told you myself that I can be impatient, so that may have actually been correct."

She begins to press her lips together again, but remembers herself and allows her grin to come forth. "If you say so, my lord," she answers. His smile drops, and she leans back a little, smirking playfully at him.

"Was that a joke?" he asks, stunned. He barks a laugh and asks, "Guinevere did you just… tease me?"

"Oh good, I did it right then," she replies just before he exuberantly kisses her.

xXx

They wade and explore the stream until Guinevere's feet feel numb, then return to their blanket, Arthur carrying her again.

Her legs have somehow gotten wet nearly to her knees even though the water was only ankle-deep, so she keeps her dress off of them while they dry. Arthur leaves his trousers rolled up as well, even though they are already damp because he splashed around a lot more.

He closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. "We must come back here again," he says.

"Yes, this has been lovely," she agrees, stretching, then reaching down to see if her legs are dry. They are, so she pushes her skirts back down and begins to reach for her stockings.

"Leave them," Arthur says, rolling towards her.

"Arthur?" Guinevere asks, watching with a mixture of excitement and dread as he leans closer. The look in his eyes makes hers widen in surprise. _Surely he can't want to… Not out here!_

"Relax, Guinevere," he murmurs, kissing her, leaning over her until she is lying down, her head on some of the pillows they brought along.

When she feels her skirts being slowly drawn back up her legs, she startles. "Arthur! What are you doing? We are out in the forest!"

He slips his hand beneath her skirt and slides his hand up her leg, drawing a gasp from her lips. He kisses her deeply and whispers against her lips, "It's my turn to please you, Wife." Then he disappears, sliding down her body, dropping a kiss on her cleavage before moving lower.

"Arthur… what… this isn't proper… oh… you can't possibly want to…"

He kisses her high on her inner thigh, then shoves her skirts a little further out of the way. "I _can_ want to," he rumbles. "Very much so," he adds, then touches her with a single finger. She's already fairly wet, and he groans, stopping himself from commenting that it seems like she wants him to, too. _She's already frightened enough._ "Relax, Love," he murmurs, then lowers his head.

She loudly cries out when his tongue makes contact, sitting bolt upright in her shock. "Arthur!" she says, breathing hard, her mind a whirlwind of confused… arousal?

He gives her a slightly mischievous look that makes her eyes widen even further. "Just lie back, and let me do what I will," he says, his voice teasing.

He can see she enjoyed the small sample she just experienced, but isn't sure if she should. He is just about to tell her that he will immediately stop if she finds she doesn't like it, but then she bites her lower lip and says, "All right."

He smiles and kisses her thigh again as she leans back. "Let me see to your needs," he purrs and kisses her again, higher this time. "Believe it or not, it brings me great pleasure to know you are also pleased," he murmurs, working his way back to his target.

"It does?" she asks, her voice breathy.

"Mmm," he answers, and this time, when his tongue slips between her folds, she moans but doesn't try to get away.

It feels like nothing she's ever experienced before, and she quickly surrenders to the sensations he is causing in her. His hands have worked their way under her, cupping her backside, and she instinctively angles her hips upwards, seeking him out when he backs away.

"Arthur," she breathes his name, her hands gripping the blanket. "Oh…" she gasps. She feels one of his hands move and then two of his fingers slide into her. "Ah!" she cries out, overwhelmed, and she climaxes a moment later. "Oh… oh, stop…"

Arthur makes a muffled noise, and Guinevere realizes she has his head clamped between her thighs. She relaxes them and he emerges, licking his lips and looking quite smug. " _You_ would have to explain my death to my father if I had suffocated just now," he says.

She is caught so off-guard by his remark that she doesn't even think about stopping her laughter.

"I like that sound," he comments, prowling over her still-prone body to kiss her.

She feels his hardness against her thigh as they kiss, and wonders if she is expected to somehow reciprocate his recent actions. Before she can even fathom what that would involve, she feels him shift. He moves her hand to the ties at his waist, and she understands, pulling them untied.

"Yes," he encourages her. "Don't be shy… my body is yours to enjoy," he murmurs, kissing her jaw and neck.

Emboldened by his words and her already-blissful state, she slips her hand inside and closes her fingers around his length, gently withdrawing it, then stroking him a few times the way he has shown her. He groans and presses his face into her cleavage, wanting to tear her dress off so he can have uninhibited access to her. When she moves and positions him, he lifts up and smiles down at her.

"Did I do that right?" she asks.

He thrusts forward, swiftly entering her. "I think so," he answers.

She giggles, then makes a soft grunt when he begins moving. "Oh…"

He stays bent over her as he moves, as though he is protectively shielding her on the very slim chance someone does encounter them here. He kisses another path from her neck to the swell of her bosom, and she arches her back, pressing upwards to meet his kisses. He balances on one hand while the other closes over a breast.

She reaches up and yanks her dress down just enough to free it for him, and he immediately latches on to it, drawing a moan from her.

"Arthur," she asks, gasping out the words, "I think I'm… can it happen twice?"

"I've heard of such things," he answers, moving up to kiss her lips. He is smart enough to know that not everything about which the knights boast is completely true, but he also realizes there have to be shreds of truth there as well. "Only for women though," he manages, trying to hang on.

"Oh… mmm…" she answers, unable to form words any longer. She runs her hands into his hair, raking her fingers over his scalp as he returns to her breast, his teeth and tongue now well acquainted with what she likes. It's all she needs to tip her over the edge a second time.

When Guinevere cries out again and reflexively pulls Arthur's hair, he lets go, following right after her. He groans, stilling, buried deep inside her, reveling in the sensation. He slumps, spent, resting his head on her chest. After a few moments, he feels like he should say something, but the only words that come to him are "I love you". He keeps quiet, afraid it's too soon. Afraid it's the desire he feels for her making him think he loves her. Afraid he will frighten her if he admits such a thing after only a few weeks.

"Arthur?" she asks, stroking his hair.

"Yes, Love?"

"I know you're probably very comfortable, but…"

"Oh!" he exclaims, carefully extracting himself from her and rolling to the side. "I'm too heavy for your tiny self."

"I don't mind so much in… in our bed, but out here… the ground is very hard," she shyly says, delicately setting her dress to rights again before reaching for her stockings.

Arthur puts himself back together again as well, then kisses her, saying, "I'm very happy you said something."

xXx

Horses returned to the stables, Arthur and Guinevere walk hand in hand back to the castle.

Guinevere spies the royal gardens and finally pulls up enough courage to ask, "May we walk through the gardens?"

Arthur stops and looks down at her. "Of course," he answers. "We have plenty of time before dinner."

"Thank you," she replies, smiling.

"Do you like flowers, Guinevere?" he asks, as they enter the garden, walking down a path lined with manicured boxwoods leading to a more winding one amid roses, daisies, and echinacea. She spies lavender off to her left and heads that way.

"I do," she answers, her voice a little uncertain. Then, "Yes. Yes, I do. Very much," she adds, more confidently. "Do you?" she asks after a moment, realizing she actually does not know this about him. She pauses, leaning down to smell the fragrant purple flowers.

He grins broadly and answers, "I am completely indifferent towards flowers. They don't interest me in the slightest."

Her hands fly up, covering her mouth as she begins giggling. Arthur joins her laughter a moment later. She regains her composure, schooling her features as much as she can, and says, "Good."

Arthur throws his arms around her, laughing as well. He lifts her off her feet and spins around once, then loses his footing. They tumble to the ground in a still-laughing heap.

"Are you all right?" he asks, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face.

"Yes… I landed on you," she answers.


	5. Chapter 5

" _Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." -Lao Tzu_

Uther's birthday celebration is a week later, and Arthur and Guinevere stand in the courtyard, greeting guests as they arrive. Uther stands on the other side of Guinevere, a short distance away. Things are still rather chilly between Arthur and his father. Guinevere wisely stays out of their disagreement, but wonders if Arthur is waiting for the king to apologize. And she is fairly certain that will never happen.

Lord Agravaine and his daughter, Lady Morgana, enter the courtyard, Morgana looking resplendent in a bright green gown that highlights her eyes. Her face breaks into a bright smile when she sees Arthur, and hurries to greet him as soon as their top knight and bodyguard, Sir Percival, helps her down from her horse.

"Arthur," she greets, hugging him warmly. "I see marriage agrees with you."

"It does," Arthur replies with a nod. "Might do you some good as well," he adds in a low voice, grinning.

At 20 years old, Morgana is approaching what many in the five kingdoms would consider spinsterhood. Agravaine has found numerous suitors for his headstrong daughter, but she has vehemently refused them all, stubbornly stating that she will only marry a man _she_ deems worthy.

Morgana laughs, then turns to Guinevere. The two women did not have much time to talk or get to know one another at the wedding, but Morgana greets the princess warmly, like an old friend. "Guinevere, you are looking quite radiant, cousin," she gushes, hugging her. "Lavender is definitely your color."

"Thank you, Morgana," Guinevere answers. "I wish I could wear that beautiful shade of green," she returns, admiring the Lady's gown. "It looks amazing on you, but does not favor me at all."

"I doubt that very much," Morgana replies, fairly certain the young princess would look lovely in any color. "I need to freshen up before the joust, but we will have plenty of time to get better acquainted, I promise."

Guinevere smiles. "I'd like that," she says, realizing she really would like a female friend in whom she could confide.

Morgana strides away, her maid trailing after her, and Arthur glances over at his father, chatting with Agravaine.

"Lord Agravaine is my mother's brother," Arthur comments. "He is… a reliable landlord."

Guinevere notes her husband's careful word choice and tone. As she looks in the king's direction, Agravaine glances over at them, gives her a look of appraisal that makes her skin crawl a bit, then returns his attention to his brother-in-law.

"He makes me uncomfortable," she bluntly and quietly remarks.

Arthur thoughtfully pauses, then says, "I have heard that comment before, from other women. I never understood exactly why until just this instant." He saw the look his uncle gave his wife and did not care for it at all. "I don't think he would actually _do_ anything, but I will make certain that you will never be alone with him."

"Thank you," she answers. "Arthur, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, you can always ask me anything," he says.

"I know you said you would always protect me, but… would you also teach me how to protect myself? There will be times when you will not be around, and…"

"That is a brilliant idea, Guinevere," he agrees, wheels already turning in his head. "Knowing you are able to defend yourself will set my mind at ease as well, and—hello, Uncle." Arthur's words suddenly change direction as Agravaine makes his way to them, Sir Percival just behind.

"Arthur, good to see you," Agravaine says, shaking his hand. "And the lovely Princess Guinevere. Is it possible you have grown more beautiful?" He offers his hand, and Guinevere places hers in it, allowing him to kiss it.

"You flatter me, Sir," she noncommittally replies, suppressing the urge to wipe the back of her hand on her skirt. Arthur pointedly and protectively slips his arm around her shoulders.

"Percvial, you'll be competing in the joust?" Arthur asks.

"Of course," the large knight replies, clasping Arthur's arm in greeting.

"Princess, I understand you will be bestowing a favor on the victor," Agravaine says.

"Yes, King Uther has asked me to do so," she replies.

"May I ask what you have prepared?" he asks, leaning in a bit more.

"Uncle, are you planning on competing?" Arthur interjects, moving so he is closer to his uncle than Guinevere is.

Agravaine scoffs and steps back. "Certainly not."

"Then what does it matter?" Arthur lightly replies, half-shrugging. "I don't even know what it is."

Guinevere looks down, knowing full well that Arthur does know what she's made. She asked him for his opinion on it more than once.

"Ah. Well, I guess we'll find out when Percival wins," Agravaine declares with a chuckle. "No offense meant to you, of course, Nephew."

Arthur keeps himself from rolling his eyes and replies, "Oh, none taken. I just hope you aren't too disappointed when I emerge victorious."

Agravaine laughs, then claps Arthur on the shoulder. "I won't be, but my purse might be a trifle lighter for it," he replies, then walks past them, heading for his rooms.

"My lord, my lady," Percival nods, then walks in the direction of the knights' quarters. Sir Leon meets him halfway and the two friends walk away, chatting together.

"His purse?" Guinevere asks.

"Oh, he likely made a friendly wager with Father," Arthur says. "They do it all the time. Come. Let's get out of the sun." Just as they are about to turn, he sees two unfamiliar knights approach. They look a bit weary and dusty, but are definitely knights.

"Do you know them, Arthur?" Guinevere asks.

"No," he answers, looking over at his father. Uther looks just as puzzled.

The knights dismount, boldly walk up to King Uther, and each drop to one knee before him. "Sire, we have heard tell of a joust this afternoon. We would like to compete, if there is room," the knight with long hair and a short beard says, his voice lightly accented.

"Rise," Uther says. "Sir Knights, you are welcome. If you have proof of nobility, of course."

Guinevere swears she can _hear_ Arthur roll his eyes. She has heard him mention the idea of allowing non-nobles to become knights if they prove themselves worthy. It's something about which he seems to feel strongly, as she has heard him say this more than once during the short time they've been married. It is also something to which Uther is vehemently opposed.

The knights stand and offer parchments. "Sir Gwaine of Armagh," the same knight introduces himself. He bears the unique and characteristic garb of the Northern Celts, wearing a leather vest and kilt over heavy boots and woolen socks.

"Sir Lancelot of Aragon," the other knight says in a quiet voice, presenting his documents. He is clean-shaven with close-cropped hair. His attire is no different than that of Camelot's knights, but his accent is quite different from his companions.

"Aragon?" Uther asks. "You're a long way from home."

"Yes, Sire," Sir Lancelot answers, giving no other details.

"Tell me, how is it that a Celt and a Spaniard happen to be traveling together?" Uther asks.

"We crossed paths in a tavern some time ago," Sir Gwaine explains, clearly the chattier of the two. "Decided it was safer and wiser to travel together."

"And what is your destination?"

"We don't have one," Gwaine lightly answers.

"Curious," Uther says, furrowing his brow. Then he seems to remember his son and says, "Allow me to present Prince Arthur. He will also be competing in the joust this afternoon."

The knights step over and clasp arms with Arthur.

"Ah, I've heard of you, mate," Gwaine greets. "Supposed to be the greatest knight in the five kingdoms. Not sure that's much of a feat, based on what I've seen of the knights in the five kingdoms."

Guinevere's eyes widen, but Arthur laughs. "Well, I can't say I completely disagree with you, but I'll ask you to reserve judgment until _after_ the joust."

"Fair enough," Gwaine replies.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance," Lancelot says, greeting the prince, bowing lightly.

"We are honored to have you compete with us today," Arthur replies. "Knights, this is Princess Guinevere. My wife," he introduces them.

Sir Gwaine offers his hand and Guinevere places hers in it. He lightly kisses it, then says, "How unfortunate for the rest of us," and winks at her.

She gasps. No one has ever winked at her before, not even her husband.

Lancelot mutters something to Gwaine, clearly chastising him, but in a language neither Arthur nor Guinevere understand. Gwaine merely chuckles and steps aside.

" _Princesa linda_ ," Lancelot says, kissing her knuckles so lightly she hardly feels it.

"Thank you?" she answers, not certain of what the handsome knight has just said.

"He called you 'lovely princess'," Gwaine explains.

"Well, he's not wrong," Arthur agrees, smiling down at his wife. He waves a nearby knight over. "Sir Bedivere, would you show Sirs Gwaine and Lancelot to the knights' quarters?"

"Yes, my lord," Bedivere answers. The knights depart just as the party from Cameliard approaches.

Arthur can feel the excitement pouring from Guinevere, and it makes him smile. It's been just over a month since she's seen her family, which is the longest she's ever been away from them.

When King Thomas and Prince Elyan dismount, she looks at Arthur, her eyes asking a question her mouth can't form.

"Go ahead," he whispers. She lifts her skirts and runs to them. Her father catches her in his arms and pulls her off her feet into a tight hug.

"The princess should not be running," Uther lowly comments. "It is unseemly."

Arthur gives his father a cold look. "What is unseemly is brainwashing an innocent girl," he shoots back.

"We are not discussing this now," Uther growls as the other approach.

"If it was up to you, we wouldn't discuss this at all," Arthur retorts. "King Thomas, Prince Elyan, welcome back to Camelot," he says immediately after.

"Prince Arthur, it does my heart good to see you are taking excellent care of my daughter," Thomas replies. Instead of clasping arms or shaking hands with the prince, he pulls him into a hug. "I am sorry for my past mistakes and hope you can forgive me," he quietly says into Arthur's ear.

"If Guinevere has forgiven you, then you have my forgiveness as well," Arthur answers.

They part, and Thomas gives Arthur a nod of understanding before turning to Uther. "Apologies, Uther, but I had to greet my daughter before anyone else," he says.

"Completely understandable," Uther answers. "Tell me, young prince, will you be competing in this afternoon's joust?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Father…"

"Perhaps," Thomas slightly relents. "We are still discussing it."

"Prince Arthur, how old were you when you first competed?" Elyan asks.

Arthur's eyes widen, not exactly thrilled to be drawn into the debate. "Um, I think I was—"

"Fourteen," Uther answers.

"See?" Elyan says, looking at his father. "I'm 15 now! I can compete!"

"You are only _just_ turned 15, and smaller than all the other knights," Thomas says.

"Father, I haven't grown in a year. I'm not going to get any taller than I am now," Elyan protests. "You know I have the skills. You know I've been practicing."

Thomas looks down at his son, staring hopefully up at his father. "Very well," Thomas says. "Just… don't get hurt. You _are_ heir to the throne."

"So is Arthur," Elyan points out.

"Arthur is also nearly four years older and more practiced than you," Thomas replies.

"Excellent," Uther says, rubbing his hands together. "Your rooms have been prepared," he adds, gesturing with his arm. They all walk into the castle.

"Your father seems genuine in his remorse," Arthur quietly says to Guinevere.

"He is. When I hugged him, he begged my forgiveness and said he would explain as best he could later," she replies. Thomas did not have enough time to reply to the letter his daughter sent, and decided it was better dealt with in person anyway. "He knows he has made mistakes and has always been very forthcoming about them with Elyan and me, hoping we can learn from his errors."

"That's very wise of him," Arthur comments.

Guinevere can hear the words her husband hasn't spoken, wishing his own father afforded him the same regard. She squeezes his arm and says, "Somewhere between your father and my father is the ideal king, I think."

"Quite possibly," Arthur sighs, hoping that he can come close to that ideal one day.

xXx

The joust begins after lunch, first with games of skill.

Guinevere and Morgana, seated in the royal box with Uther, Thomas, and Agravaine, collect the rings and garlands the knights snag with their lances.

Sir Gwaine makes quite the impression on the crowd. He also makes a rather sizable impression on Lady Morgana.

"Who is that?" she asks Guinevere when he takes his helmet off.

"Sir Gwaine of Armagh. He and another foreign knight arrived just after you and your father went inside," Guinevere answers. She sees Morgana's enthralled face and says, "Why don't you accept the garland from him?"

"Oh!" Morgana stands as Gwaine approaches.

"My lady," Gwaine offers her the laurel garland, twisted into a circle, that he had snagged with his lance during this first round.

"Sir Knight," she responds, her voice like honey. He rakishly grins, then rides off. When Morgana sits, she studiously ignores the glare her father is giving her. Guinevere sees it but says nothing, wondering why Agravaine is unhappy. Gwaine is a knight and therefore worthy of Morgana's attention.

It is soon forgotten when the next knight comes out and fails in the task.

Arthur winds up winning the first half, earning a ribbon and a kiss on the cheek from his wife. "What if I hadn't won?" he asks.

"The winner would have received the ribbon only," she answers, tying the purple ribbon around his arm.

He laughs and rides away, making a circuit of the stadium before heading back to his tent to prepare for the joust.

The joust begins, and three rounds pass before Arthur is to compete. He is up against Sir Leon, who is a year older and four inches taller than Arthur. Guinevere has seen the two of them spar during training several times, and is quite confident in her husband's abilities.

The two knights charge each other. Sir Leon appears to hesitate for just a bare fraction of a second, and Arthur's lance splinters into his shield. Leon's lance falls to the ground and he wobbles a bit in his saddle. Arthur wins the round, and the crowd cheers. Guinevere notices Arthur doesn't exactly look pleased. In fact, he looks rather unhappy.

"Morgana," she says, leaning towards her cousin, "does Arthur look upset to you?"

Morgana immediately nods. "He is definitely angry," she agrees. She glances at Uther, who is puffed up like a peacock, and rolls her eyes. "Sir Leon didn't give full effort, and Arthur could see that. I could see it, too."

"What did he do?" Guinevere asks.

"He hesitated. I have never seen him hesitate before," Morgana answers. "Not against people who _aren't_ Arthur, I mean."

Guinevere knows this is a sore spot for her husband: being given special treatment because of his status. "Oh, dear," she answers, biting her lip.

"I'm glad you understand," Morgana says, watching as Arthur speaks to Leon, clearly giving him a piece of his mind, but quietly, in the knight's ear. "But put a smile on your face, because he's coming this way."

Guinevere quickly withdraws a rose from the bucket between them and stands, waiting for Arthur. She leans over the wall and passes it to him with a loving smile. When he takes his prize, she holds the stem for a moment and meets his gaze, trying to convey that she is sympathetic to his frustration.

His face softens, and she knows he received her silent message when his fingers tighten over her hand and he kisses the inside of her wrist before turning to face the crowd.

"You seem to understand one another," Morgana assesses when Guinevere sits.

"We are endeavoring to make our marriage a happy one," she answers. "Arthur wants a partner, not just a wife," she quietly adds after making sure Uther is not paying attention. He is deep in discussion with Thomas and Agravaine about the next matchup.

"Despite Uther's best efforts apparently," Morgana replies.

"Yes," Guinevere tightly agrees. Arthur and Morgana keep up regular correspondence, and Guinevere saw the letter he sent his cousin telling her all about Uther's scheming. "He's still angry with his father about it."

"Uther is my uncle and my king, but he is also a pig," the other woman lightly says, then her eyes light up when Sir Gwaine enters the arena.

"Your favorite is back," Guinevere teases, but her smile falls when she sees Elyan enter from the other side. "Oh, dear."

"That's your brother," Morgana states.

"Yes, I know. He's too young," she frets.

"Arthur was 14 when he competed in his first joust. Lost quite soundly, too, if memory serves," Morgana says. "Oh, forgive me; that wasn't helpful at all, was it?"

"I can't watch." Guinevere covers her eyes as the two knights square up against one another. She hears the dull thud of hoofbeats on dirt, then the sickening _crack_ of lances hitting a shields.

There is a heart-stopping moment of silence, and she pries one eye open.

Elyan is on the ground. She gasps, her hands flying over her mouth as she sees her father rise from his chair to get a better look.

Elyan moves, and the crowd cheers. Sir Gwaine dashes over, tossing his helmet aside, and helps the prince to his feet. He is grinning broadly, congratulating the young man on his efforts as he claps him on the back.

Elyan removes his helmet to reveal an exhilarated face beaming back at Sir Gwaine, and Guinevere breathes again. The young man waves to the royal box, and Thomas sits again, heavinly exhaling.

"See? He's fine," Morgana says. She glances at Guinevere when Gwaine starts strutting towards them.

"You can reward him again," Guinevere says, biting back a grin as Morgana quickly but gracefully rises, lifting a rose from the vase as she does.

"Your favor, Sir Knight," Morgana croons as she leans down and passes him his rose.

"It is almost as lovely as its bearer," he returns. Then he winks at Morgana before striding away.

Guinevere is only slightly less shocked than she was when Sir Gwaine winked at her earlier. She's never seen a knight behave so brashly before.

"Oh, I like him," Morgana replies, grinning, her cheeks flushed.

The next match pits the other visiting knight, Sir Lancelot, against Sir Bedivere. Lancelot wins handily, and accepts his rose with a dignified bearing and a quiet, " _Muchas gracias, princesa._ "

Next is Sir Percival against Sir Bors. Intimidated by the large knight's size, the young and flustered Bors winds up dropping his lance.

"Percival is really a fluffy kitten on the inside," Morgana conspiratorially whispers to Guinevere, who giggles.

When she sees the big man blush on receiving his rose, she realizes Morgana was not joking with her.

"Ah. Arthur is next," Uther says, rubbing his hands together, excited for the semi-final round. "I expect him to take out that ridiculous Celt who calls himself a knight – I'll be looking into his documents as soon as this is over – and then wind up the victor!"

"Yes, well, he'll have to get past Percival first," Agravaine goads, proud of his prized knight and guard.

"Pssh," Uther waves a dismissive hand. "Men that size tend to be slow. Arthur is as fleet as a fox, with lightning-fast reflexes."

Guinevere listens to this exchange, and then Morgana speaks as though she has read the princess' mind. "Uther only praises Arthur about his skill as a knight. It's the only thing he really cares about," she leans over and says in Guinevere's ear.

"Yes, I was just figuring that out," Guinevere agrees.

Arthur faces Gwaine. The crowd goes silent, and Guinevere gropes blindly until she finds Morgana's hand, relieved when the other woman clutches hers back just as tightly.

Gwaine's lance lands a fraction of a second before Arthur's. Both weapons are destroyed, but in the end, it is Arthur on the ground.

He isn't moving. Guinevere jumps to her feet, her hands over her mouth to keep herself from screaming.

The crowd is silent again, shocked. Worried.

Merlin runs to Arthur's side and carefully pulls his helmet off. A moment later, Gaius, the court physician, gingerly picks his way onto the field, assisted by a squire. He waves a vial under Arthur's nose, and the prince comes sputtering back into consciousness.

Sir Gwaine hovers nearby, and the two women in the royal box can see the worry on the handsome knight's face. The king, however, does not. He is too busy fuming over Arthur's loss.

"He gets no favor," he spits, only half-facing Guinevere and Morgana.

"Yes, he does," Morgana defiantly replies, rising with her prize in hand. "He won fairly." Guinevere is too worried about Arthur, otherwise she would be impressed at how Morgana stands up to her uncle the king.

Arthur is helped off the field by Merlin and a squire, but he pauses near Sir Gwaine, congratulating the visiting knight on his victory.

"Is he smiling?" Guinevere asks, watching her husband being half-carried from the field.

"He is," Morgana answers, grinning because she knows why. "Come, Sir Knight, and receive your reward," she calls.

Gwaine saunters back over and receives a green silk ribbon from Morgana, which he kisses before holding aloft. He doesn't even look at Uther.

Guinevere wants to go and check on Arthur, but Morgana stills her. "You have to stay and give your favor to the winner," she says. "I'm worried about Arthur, too, but Gaius is the best physician in the five kingdoms. He is in good hands, and will understand."

Guinevere nods, knowing this is one of those times where her duty has to come first. _Only two more rounds, that's all._

Lancelot and Percival are next, and unfortunately for Agravaine, Uther's prediction proves correct. Lancelot is not large, but he is fast and clever. He simultaneously avoids Percival's lance while deftly knocking the shield from his grasp, defeating him.

Solemn as ever, he makes his way to the royal box, and Guinevere hands him a red ribbon. He respectfully nods his head, still not smiling, as he receives his favor.

The crowd greets the final round with a level of minor indifference. Their prince has been defeated and they don't really know either of the competitors. Morgana is one of only a few people _truly_ interested in the outcome, now officially quite taken with the dashing Sir Gwaine.

The two knights, both visitors, both strangers to Camelot, face one another. As they begin charging, the sun suddenly breaks forth from behind the clouds, and it reflects off of Lancelot's gleaming armor.

And straight into Gwaine's eyes. The northern knight, who likely would have won, is temporarily blinded, and the knight from across the sea to the south winds up victorious.

The crowd gasps, stunned again. Uther cheers, feeling like Lancelot's victory over Gwaine has somehow avenged Arthur's defeat.

Sir Lancelot bows to the crowd, but some can tell that he knows his was a win gained by luck rather than skill. Sir Gwaine comes over to congratulate his friend, and Lancelot cracks his first, albeit very small, smile of the day, bowing his head as he does so.

"Come, receive your favor from the princess, Sir Knight," Uther calls, his voice booming over the crowd. "Sir… Lancelot, correct?"

"Yes, Sire," Lancelot's quiet voice only just reaches them. He deferentially nods his head.

"Congratulations on your victory. I do hope you will be joining us for the feast this evening," he says. Guinevere and Morgana wonder if he would be so hospitable had Sir Gwaine won.

"I would be honored, Sire," Lancelot replies.

"Excellent. Princess Guinevere," Uther says, extending an arm in her direction.

"Congratulations, Sir Lancelot," Guinevere says. She hands him another rose and a white silk handkerchief that she has embroidered with Camelot's golden dragon emblem.

"I am honored and humbled, my lady," the knight replies, receiving his favor. His face is as solemn as ever, but he makes the mistake of allowing his gaze to linger on the princess just a little too long.

Guinevere doesn't notice, but Morgana does. So does Sir Gwaine, who is watching nearby. Uther is already halfway out of the royal box.

xXx

"Merlin!" Guinevere calls, spotting the king's servant's shiny black hair a short distance ahead.

Merlin hears her voice, turns, and pushes back through the crowd to meet her. "The prince has been taken to your quarters, my lady," he says.

She takes his arm, surprising him, and lets him lead her through the throng of people filing out. "I do not like crowds," she explains. "They sometimes make me a trifle dizzy."

"Understood," Merlin replies.

They finally make it inside to find Lord Agravaine hovering. "Princess, you should have a proper escort, not this manservant," he says, offering his services.

Guinevere tightens her grip on Merlin's arm. "Forgive my brusqueness, Lord Agravaine, but I am in haste to see my husband and Merlin knows the fastest route," she says, surreptitiously giving Merlin a gentle push.

Merlin angles his head at Agravaine, then starts walking again at a deliberately brisk pace.

"Thank you," Guinevere says once they are far enough away.

"Arthur already informed me that you feel uneasy around Lord Agravaine," Merlin replies, slowing his steps. "But I am glad you spoke up so I did not have to. He does not like me."

"Why ever not?" she asks. Merlin is one of the most likable people she has ever met.

"He thinks I am outspoken and disrespectful. Says I have notions above my station, or some such," he lightly replies, clearly not terribly bothered. "Arthur told his uncle that if he had a problem with my demeanor, _he_ would address it." They pause outside the chamber doors. "I have been Arthur's servant for as long as either of us remember. He… he can never admit it, but we are friends."

"Good," Guinevere says. "He needs people he can trust. And I know he trusts you. He may not say it enough, so I will: Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin smiles. "You're welcome, my lady." Shouting on the other side of the doors reaches their ears. "Oh, dear." He pushes the door open and stands to the side to allow her to enter.

Guinevere takes a deep breath and walks in.

"I want that… that kilted hooligan out of my kingdom!" Uther bellows, pacing at the foot of Arthur's bed.

"Father, that 'kilted hooligan' did nothing wrong," Arthur argues. "He is unconventional, yes, but he broke no rules, and I commend him for giving his full effort in facing me, which is more than I can say for Sir Leon's performance."

Uther scowls. "Even so. The sooner he is out of my kingdom, the better." He turns and sees Guinevere standing there, her hands clasped in front of her. "Ah, Guinevere, my dear," he says, his mood swinging back the other way.

"Sire," she replies, curtseying.

"Guinevere," Arthur calls, extending an arm. She hurries to his side.

"Are you hurt?" she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. He has a bandage wrapped around his torso and his eyes look a little off.

"Bruised a few ribs, and I hit my head pretty good," he says. "Gaius said I need to rest, but… something else I can't remember…"

"You'll need to be woken up periodically while you sleep," Gaius supplies. "It won't be enjoyable, I'm afraid, but until we know the severity of the head injury we cannot risk letting you sleep for too long."

"Why is that?" Guinevere asks.

"If it is severe, he could fall into a deep unconscious state or even die," Gaius answers.

"Right; that's what it was," Arthur says as Guinevere gasps and covers her mouth, tears threatening. He takes her hand and kisses it. "Don't worry, Love. I'll be fine."

"Morgana said Gaius is the best physician in the five kingdoms," Guinevere says, holding Arthur's hand.

"She is right. I wouldn't have it any other way," Uther proudly states.

"This is all very flattering, but I need to make my rounds through the other knights to see if any of them need attention," Gaius says.

"I must freshen up before the feast," Uther says. He starts towards the door, then seems to remember himself. "Oh, dear… Arthur, you won't be able to attend the feast, will you?"

"No, Father. Don't trouble yourself about it," he replies, not sounding terribly disappointed about not going to the feast.

"Guinevere, you will still be joining us, won't you?" Uther asks.

Arthur squeezes her hand, and she replies, "Forgive me, Sire, but I think I should stay with my husband."

Uther opens his mouth, then his eyes land on Arthur's face. Whatever he sees there makes him close it again. "I will have some food sent up," he says, then turns on his heel and leaves.

xXx

Guinevere sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard, reading a book, while Arthur dozes beside her. He tried rolling over to rest his head on her lap – something he found he really enjoys – but it hurt his ribs too much. Instead he lies on his back with one hand resting on her leg.

A soft knock sounds at the door. Guinevere nods at Merlin, and he hurries to answer it. She hears him quietly talking to someone outside. Then he glances back over his shoulder at them, and she carefully gets off the bed and walks over, curious.

"Who is it, Merlin?" she asks as she walks.

"Sir Lancelot and Sir Gwaine," Merlin answers. "Sir Gwaine wishes to see how the prince is faring before he heads to the feast."

She comes to the door. "Arthur needs to wake up again anyway, so your timing is fortunate," she says. "Please, come in. I won't be a moment."

"Take your time, Princess," Gwaine replies. She can hear Merlin chatting with the two visitors as she walks back to the bed. "Arthur," she says, softly running her fingers through his hair. "You need to wake up, Darling." She bends down, kisses his forehead, and he stirs.

"Guinevere," he mutters, groping for her.

"You have visitors," she says, evading his grasp.

"You are the only company I want right now," he replies, undeterred. "Come back to bed."

"Arthur," she presses, trying to be stern while she's trying to stop herself from giggling at how adorably ridiculous he is. "Sir Gwaine would like a word."

"Sir Gwaine? Oh." Wincing, he pulls himself up with Guinevere's help until he is as upright as he can manage.

Guinevere walks back to where the knights are waiting. "He will see you now," she informs, then leads them to the bedside. She sits in a chair on the opposite side and pours a goblet of water for her husband.

"Sir Gwaine, Sir Lancelot, to what do I owe this honor?" Arthur asks. "Thank you," he says to Guinevere, taking the goblet.

"My lord, I—"

"Arthur," he interjects. "Please, I prefer to be addressed by my given name."

Gwaine nods. "Fair enough, Arthur. I simply wanted to see how you were faring. You took a nasty bump on the noggin there," he says.

Arthur chuckles. "Yeah, you didn't hold back at all, did you?" he asks with a wry smile. Gwaine opens his mouth to reply, but Arthur holds up his hand. "Thank you for not holding back."

"You're welcome?" Gwaine replies, confused.

"Surely you saw my match against Sir Leon," Arthur says.

"Actually, I didn't," Gwaine answers.

"I did," Lancelot finally pipes up. "His hesitation possibly cost him the match."

"Yes," Arthur agrees. "Possibly, but possibly not. We'll never know, and I can't truly know if my skills are worthy if my knights go easy on me simply because I am the prince."

Lancelot nods.

Gwaine smiles. "And here I was feeling a wee bit guilty for knockin' you on your arse." Lancelot jabs him with his elbow and he quickly adds, "Oh! Beg pardon, my lady."

"It's all right," Guinevere says, trying not to laugh.

"Well, _that_ part still seems to be in working order," Arthur replies, chuckling. "But I'll mend soon enough and look forward to returning the favor in the near future."

Gwaine furrows his brow. "The near future? What are you going on about now?"

"I'd like for you to stay and join our ranks. Both of you," Arthur says. "I could use men with your skills." The two knights look surprised, so Arthur adds, "You don't need to answer now. Enjoy the feast, stay the night, and let me know in the morning."

"Thank you, my lord," Lancelot answers, and Gwaine echoes the sentiment.

"We'll let you know by noon tomorrow," Gwaine adds, glancing at his companion, noting how the other knight's eyes have a tendency to wander in the princess' direction. "We have much to discuss, and will leave you in the capable hands of your wife to see to your rest."

"You'd be part of the finest regiment of knights in the five kingdoms," Arthur says, already sliding back down.

"We will keep that in mind," Gwaine replies.

"Oh, Lancelot," Arthur remembers. "Congratulations on your win. The silk handkerchief you received from my wife was embroidered by her own hand."

"Thank you, my lord. The _princesa_ does fine work and I will treasure the token," Lancelot answers.

"Enjoy the feast," Guinevere calls.

"I always enjoy a good feast," Gwaine replies with a grin. Then Merlin sees them out.

"Do you think they'll stay?" Guinevere asks, removing her slippers once again to rejoin Arthur on the bed.

"I hope so. The men are getting a bit complacent, and I think some interesting new blood is just the thing we need," Arthur answers. "I'm very curious to see both of them in action."

"Do you need anything?" she asks, tucking the blankets around him and smoothing his hair.

"Just you, Love," he answers, taking her hand and kissing it. "And maybe a bite to eat soon."

She giggles, settles in beside him, and picks up her book.

"Read to me a bit," Arthur says, closing his eyes.

"Um, all right. It's a book about flowers though," Guinevere warns him.

"I don't care. I just like the sound of your voice."

xXx

Arthur insists on eating his breakfast at the table the next morning. His head still dully aches, but is much improved after a night of very interrupted sleep. His ribs are sore, but he manages to get to the table with the help of Merlin and Guinevere. Gaius sent a draught with Merlin for Arthur to take with his meal along with instructions to continue resting. Normally, Arthur would protest those instructions, but he still feels out of sorts enough to heed them.

"Why is that Celt not gone yet?" Uther comes barreling into their chambers without knocking.

Arthur winces at the noise, but quickly collects himself and looks levelly at his father. "I have asked him to remain and join our ranks. Sir Lancelot as well," he says.

"I forbid it!" Uther yells.

Arthur very deliberately sets his fork down. The only thing stopping him from raising his own voice is the knowledge that his wife does not like yelling, and the way she just jumped at Uther's outburst only makes him angrier. He keeps his voice level and retorts, "You gave me complete control over the knights when I turned 18. It is well within my rights to choose the men I wish, regardless of your approval."

Uther coldly stares at his son for a long moment, then says, "You have a head injury and are not thinking clearly."

"My brain is functioning is fine and I assure you I will not be changing my mind," Arthur replies, reaching across the table for Guinevere's hand.

"He showed absolutely no regard—"

"He showed fine horsemanship and skill," Arthur cuts him off. "More importantly, he gave full effort even though he knew he was facing the prince."

"He has no respect for authority and shows no regard for propriety and decorum!" Uther shouts.

"Guinevere, I understand if you would like to excuse yourself," Arthur gently says, momentarily ignoring his father.

"No, I'm all right, thank you," she replies, giving him a small smile.

Uther puzzles at them, then loudly says, "I will not be ignored!"

"You say that like it's possible," Arthur says with a sigh. "Honestly, Father, I don't understand why you are so dead-set against allowing Sir Gwaine to join our ranks. Are the Knights of Camelot not the finest in the five kingdoms? Do we not want such skill in our ranks, or should we send him away to join up with the likes of, say, Odin, with the knowledge that he may one day raise his sword against us?"

"You are the heir to the throne! He could have killed you!"

Arthur looks up at his father, unimpressed. He lightly shakes his head. "Don't pretend that this is about me. It's about this kingdom and your legacy, just like everything else. If I wasn't heir to the throne you wouldn't be this angry. In fact, you weren't angry at all when Sir Gwaine defeated Prince Elyan, who is _also_ heir to _his_ kingdom's throne." His voice is calm, almost defeated. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to rest. All this yelling has made me tired."

Uther stammers a moment, presses his lips together, and wheels around, striding from the room. He tries to slam the door, but Merlin catches it and closes it quietly, to spare both his master and his mistress.

Arthur is still holding Guinevere's hand, so she lifts it and kisses it. "Would you like to go back to bed?" she asks, not really knowing what to say. She doesn't know if this sort of fight is a normal occurrence between Arthur and Uther or not, but judging from Merlin's casual demeanor, she guesses it happens with some regularity.

"No, I'm fine," Arthur answers. "I'm sorry, Guinevere."

"You don't need to apologize," she says.

"I remember you don't care for yelling," he explains.

"I don't, but I wanted to stay here for you," she replies. "I notice you didn't tell him that you haven't gotten an answer about whether they are staying."

He takes a drink, then says, "It wasn't relevant. Plus I didn't want to have him go off and hatch some plan to make sure they decline."

"He would stoop to sabotage?" she asks, surprised.

"Most definitely," Arthur answers. Merlin nods behind him.

xXx

The knock comes about mid-morning. Arthur has just begun to get bored and antsy, so he is very happy to have visitors.

"Sir Gwaine, Sir Lancelot," he greets when Merlin lets them in. "I hope you have good news for me."

Gwaine glances at Lancelot, giving him a strange look, then says, "Well, it depends on whether you consider having a brooding Spaniard and a half-crazy Celt among your ranks 'good news' or not."

Arthur's eyebrows rise. "You'll stay?"

"Aye. It wasn't an easy decision, but we'll give it a go," Gwaine replies. Lancelot nods beside him.

"Excellent," Arthur answers, gingerly standing and stepping over to clasp arms with the men. "See Sir Leon about lodging and uniforms. He's the tall bloke with—"

"We met the man," Gwaine interjects. "A bit stodgy, but seems to be a good lad."

Arthur snorts a short laugh. "That he is. Oh, um… in the interest of honesty, my father isn't exactly keen on your joining us," he says. "I think he's fine with you, Lancelot, but he's a bit sour on you since you defeated me in the tournament yesterday," he clarifies, looking at Gwaine.

"I thought as much. He was lookin' daggers at me during the feast last night. Lady Morgana – fine lass, her – counseled me to ignore him," Gwaine replies.

Guinevere looks up from her sewing on hearing this, a smile on her face. She briefly spoke with the Lady about an hour ago, and Morgana had confessed to spending a good portion of the feast in Sir Gwaine's charming company.

"I think avoidance might be a better tactic," Arthur suggests. "If you ignore him, he could get you for insubordination. Just… steer clear. I can have Leon arrange it so your duties keep you away from the king until he gets over it."

"Whatever you think is best. Is there training today?" he asks. "Lancelot and I are eager to get out there and give the other lads what-for."

Arthur smiles. "After lunch. Leon will give you all that information. He will be running training in my absence today as well."

Gwaine nods. "I guess you'll have to wait for me to knock you on your arse again then," he says with a grin.

The prince laughs, then winces, the act aggravating his injured ribs. "Well, we'll just see whose backside lands on the ground when swords are involved," he says.

"I look forward to it," Gwaine replies with a grin.


	6. Chapter 6

" _Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." -Emily Bronte_

Three weeks pass. Arthur and Guinevere have been married for just over two months, and already there are whispers about the fact that the princess has not gotten with child. Since Arthur and Guinevere were not at the king's birthday feast, talk freely flowed, the pettier courtiers already putting forth theories ranging from the quiet princess being unwilling to bed the prince to Arthur having a mistress. There were even whispers about whether or not the prince preferred the company of men, since he did not "sow his royal oats" before he was wed they way many do.

Most of these gossipmongers were silenced by a sharp word or icy glare from the Lady Morgana. But once Morgana returned to her home, the whispers resumed.

Guinevere hasn't directly heard any of this talk, but, being well-acquainted with courtly life, she knows it is happening. She already confided her fears to her father when he came to talk with her the morning after the joust. He wisely counseled her not to look for worry where none yet existed and to keep her chin held high. "And talk to Arthur about it," he added. "He is your husband, and you have assured me he is trying his best to be a good one. A good husband will support you even if you turn out to be barren. Which you won't."

Guinevere nodded, then said, "How can you be sure I'm not?"

"I can't be," he admitted. "But there is no history of such a thing in my family or your mother's, which I take to be a good sign." She nodded again, and he added, "Arthur is a good man. I've been closely watching him on this visit, and he seems quite taken with you."

"And I with him," she confessed.

"Guinevere," Thomas said, taking his daughter's hand, "I am sorry for not being stronger. I am sorry for allowing Uther to send Lady Nimueh to turn you into something you are not. I was…" he sighed and looked away, ashamed. "I let him intimidate me. I was so afraid that he would walk away from the agreement if I didn't meet most of his demands, and we _needed_ this alliance. Not that the kingdom is more important than your happiness—"

"But it is, Father," Guinevere interjected. "The good of the kingdom always supersedes the good of the individual."

"And yet I would not have been able to live with myself had I discovered you were unhappy here," Thomas replied with a sigh. "You are my only daughter, and I am selfish where you are concerned. Perhaps… I justified my actions by convincing myself that if I let you be groomed for Arthur, the match would be good and you would be happy."

"Papa," she squeezed his hand, "the match _is_ good and I _am_ happy. And I have been happier since I've been… well, freed to be who I am instead of who Uther thought I should be. And even with that adjustment, we are still well matched."

Thomas smiled. "You have your mother's wisdom as well as her eyes. Will you forgive me?"

"I already have," she answered, then hugged her father.

xXx

Arthur's head is better and his ribs are mostly healed. He has been cleared to resume all his duties except anything physically strenuous. Gaius has allowed him to oversee the knights' training, but not to participate. It's been very difficult for the prince, as he is a very physical teacher, preferring to show by example, but he has to admit he's enjoyed the challenge.

"Guinevere…" he groans, his hands sliding up her thighs as she moves over him, sliding up and down on his shaft at a torturously slow pace. "You're killing me, Love…" he grunts.

"Am I?" she asks, lightly dragging her fingers down his chest. Three weeks with no activity in the marital bed can seem like quite a drought after how busy they had previously been. When Gaius said Arthur could resume his non-strenuous duties, Arthur assumed that meant he could resume his husbandly duty as well, provided they were careful.

Which is what led to Guinevere straddling him just after sunrise. It didn't even take that much convincing, for which Arthur was grateful. This isn't the first time she has been on top (though last time she was a bit shy and kept her nightgown on), but he was afraid she would be too worried about his injury to be willing.

Arthur groans again, mentally cursing Gwaine as his beautiful young wife takes her time torturing him with her languid movements. He closes his eyes and presses his head back into the pillow. While his eyes are closed, Guinevere decides to pick up her pace, startling him. His eyes fly open and he grunts, his fingers digging into her thighs before sliding them up over her stomach to close over her breasts. She carefully leans forward and kisses him, bracing her hands on either side of his head.

"Oh…" she gasps, pulling her lips away as she climaxes, resting her forehead against his the way he so often does to her. She loses her rhythm for a second, but regroups, moving her hips until he tenses, surging into her, his hands gripping her waist as he struggles to not pull her flush on top of him and wrap his arm around her.

Guinevere kisses him again, then moves off of him. She curls against his side, careful not to lean against his ribs. She sighs contentedly. "We will need to get up soon," she says.

"I know," he replies. "Come here," he says, lifting his arm and pulling her closer so she can rest her head on his shoulder.

"Are you sure this is all right?" she asks, her hand resting on his chest.

"If I grow uncomfortable, I will let you know," he answers, dragging his fingers up and down her arm. "Your slight weight is no burden at all."

"Mmm," she hums, closing her eyes. "I've missed this."

"Me too." They lie quietly together for a time, listening to the early morning sounds of the castle. Faint voices in the corridors, doors opening and closing, hoofbeats in the courtyard. "That'll be Father," Arthur absently says.

"His early morning ride," Guinevere replies.

He hums a noncommittal response and they lie quietly together for a time.

"Arthur?" she quietly asks at length. He's gone very still and she wonders if he's drifted back to sleep.

"Yes?"

"My courses came last week, and…" she trails off, not sure how to verbalize her concerns.

"Don't worry, Love," he says, thinking he understands. "Do not let idle court chatter upset you."

"Well, to be honest, I haven't directly heard any," she replies. "But that does not mean I am unaware that it is happening. I am aware of the looks and the whispers."

"Guinevere," Arthur says, looking down at her, "there is absolutely no rush. We are both very young, and we have only been married a short time."

"But—"

" _But_ , if it does not happen, I will not punish you, cast you aside, or take another to my bed," he says, his voice solemn. "I promise you this on my mother's memory."

She lifts up and kisses him. "Thank you, Arthur," she says. "It's been heavy on my mind."

"You're welcome. I am happy you shared the burden with me," he replies, tightening his arm around her in an awkward half-hug.

She pulls the sheets up over them and settles back in against him, closing her eyes. "I like that I was able to do so."

"Me too," he agrees. He yawns, then asks, "What is going on today? I have training this morning, of course…"

"There is a Council meeting after lunch," she reminds him. "I was thinking…"

"What?" he prompts when she trails off. He looks down at her. "Guinevere? You were thinking?"

"Might I attend the Council meeting?" She has never been to a meeting, but knows Queen Igraine used to attend Council before she died. Lady Nimueh never said if Guinevere would be allowed to attend Council or not. She probably thought Guinevere wouldn't be interested. _Uther was likely counting on my not being interested,_ she realizes.

"Of course you may!" Arthur replies. "I would love for you to attend. Though I will warn you, they are quite dull."

She smiles. "I don't expect them to be exciting," she says, turning her head sharply towards the doors. "I think Merlin is outside," she adds, kissing Arthur before sliding out of bed. She pulls her nightdress on over her head, followed by her dressing gown. She hands a frowning Arthur his sleeping trousers, then walks to unlock the door.

xXx

"No, no, not like that, Bors," Arthur says, walking over. "Keep your shield _up_ and your eyes on your opponent's movements, even when you aren't actively engaged. You can learn a lot about the way a man fights by how he carries himself when not in battle."

"My lord," Sir Leon interrupts, stepping over, his eyes trained a short distance away.

"Try again, Bors. Do try to stay on your feet this time," Arthur finishes. "Yes, Leon?"

"Isn't that the king's horse?" he asks, pointing towards the prized black beast wandering somewhat aimlessly, gradually making his way towards the field.

Arthur stops and stares. "Yes. But where is Father?" he asks. "Take over for me; I'm going to go get him."

Leon nods and Arthur jogs away, slowing as he nears the horse. The knights gradually stop their training, watching with interest as their prince takes the horse's reins, pats his nose, and proceeds to check him over. Leon can tell by the stiff set of Arthur's shoulders that something is wrong. He calls to him.

"Arthur?"

"Assemble a search party," Arthur yells, passing the horse to an observant stablehand who came over. The prince jogs back to the field. "The saddle is askew, and…" He holds up a scrap of material. "This is from father's tunic. I think he fell off somewhere."

Leon's brow furrows. "How could that…?" He stops, shakes his head, and shouts to the men, asking for volunteers. He takes the first five men that step forward and quickly head to the stables.

"Merlin," Arthur says, and the servant is there instantly. "Did you see Father leave this morning?"

"Yes. It was the same as any other day. He seemed to be his same grouchy self as always. Clearheaded enough to yell at me when I was in his way," Merlin answers.

"I should go with," Arthur says, walking towards the stables.

"You need to stay here," Merlin reaches out and grabs his arm. "Your duty is to remain at the castle." When Arthur glares at him, he quickly adds, "My lord."

Arthur deflates. "You're right."

"I thought you were still mad at him," Merlin comments as they walk inside.

"I am, but that doesn't mean I am wishing misfortune upon him," Arthur replies.

xXx

The search party returns nearly an hour later, entering the castle via a back door so as not to alarm anyone. Arthur is immediately summoned to the king's quarters, and arrives to find Gaius already tending Uther.

The king does not look at all well. Guinevere even squeezes Arthur's arm in alarm on seeing how pale Uther is. His skin is a ghastly white with a sickly sheen about it, making him look somewhat like a poorly-rendered statue of himself.

"Arthur…" Uther rasps, his voice almost inaudible. Arthur hurries to the bedside. Guinevere chooses to remain in the background to let her husband have some time alone with his father for what may very likely be the last time. Merlin moves to stand beside her and she gives him a weak but grateful smile.

"I'm here, Father," Arthur says. He takes his father's hand and tries not to show how shocked he is at how cold it feels.

"I… I want you to know… before I…"

"Shh, Father," Arthur interjects. "You're going to be fine." He glances up at Gaius for confirmation, but the old physician's face is grim and he does not nod or give any sign of encouragement.

"I am dying, Arthur," Uther says, then makes a noise that should be a chuckle, but sounds more like a thick, gurgling cough. Gaius reaches down with a cloth and dabs at the blood that has come up. "I was thrown… I have too much broken… inside…" he says, his words coming in short, gasping phrases.

"You don't need to explain," Arthur says. _It was an accident… just an accident._ Yet he can't help feeling somehow responsible.

"Arthur," Uther tries again, pushing his voice stronger. The effort sets off a coughing fit that winds up being a very unpleasant and bloody affair.

"Save your strength, Sire," Gaius advises after cleaning him up again. He places a cup to the king's lips, but he only takes a sip of the draught.

"What for? I'm dying. What's the sense in… dragging it out?" Uther wheezes. He weakly squeezes Arthur's hand, trying to get his attention. "I want you… to know…" he tries again. "I am proud… of you… your mother… would be proud… of the man… you've become," Uther says. He closes his eyes and goes still.

Arthur's eyes widen. "Father?" he quietly says, heedless of the tears now streaming down his cheeks.

Uther's eyes open for a moment, then close. "I am… sorry… for what I… what I did… to Guinevere…" he whispers. "It was… wrong of me… I was wrong…"

"Thank you, Father," Arthur whispers.

Uther's eyes open once more, and the soft, fond look he bestows on his son is one the prince has never seen before. "You look… so like… your moth…" His words decline into a long, final exhale that leaves his unseeing eyes staring at his son.

Arthur reaches up with a trembling hand and closes his father's eyes.

xXx

Arthur takes an hour to himself before dealing with the official business of the king's death. Gaius, Merlin, and the king's manservant, George, use this time to prepare Uther's body for the funeral and entombment.

Guinevere strokes her husband's hair, running her fingers through the golden strands as she looks down at his face. When they returned to their chambers, he tugged her to the bed. She knew exactly what he wanted and sat with her back against the headboard so he could lie down with his head on her lap.

"It doesn't make sense," Arthur says for probably the tenth time. "Why would he go down such an untried path? Why would he be so careless?" He sighs. "He never allowed a guard to accompany him, stubborn old fool."

Guinevere listens, letting him pour his feelings out without judgment. "I'm afraid we can never know," she quietly replies. She has a sneaking suspicion that her husband would also refuse the company of a guard if he went for a ride at dawn, but holds her tongue. Arthur does take after his father in a few small but significant ways, and Guinevere is beginning to learn what those are.

The search party was able to easily follow Uther's trail, taking care to keep a sharp eye out for any sign of a struggle or fight. They found nothing except the king's broken body, bent at an odd angle over some jagged rocks. He had decided to take a new, little-used path, and somehow the horse threw him. Whether the animal got spooked or simply could not handle the demands of his rider will forever remain a mystery.

"He wouldn't have been careless if I had been willing to talk to him… I was still angry with him. I have been avoiding him for over a month." He turns his head, pressing his face into her lap. "I should have gone to him to try to resolve our argument," he says, his voice muffled.

She knows Uther very likely had no intention of discussing their rift, but again says nothing, knowing it is not the time. "Arthur, you don't know that," she says. "You cannot blame yourself. True, there is no way to know if he would have taken that path – or taken more care with his horse – had you reconciled, but there is no way to know if he would _not_ have, either."

He reluctantly nods. "At least… at least he was still alive when they brought him back. If they had returned with his lifeless body, I…"

"Shh," she soothes, stroking his hair again the way she knows he likes. "You can take comfort in the fact that you were able to make peace before he passed, Arthur. That is more than many get."

He looks up at her, his heart feeling like it is constricting and swelling at once. "I am grateful for that much, yes," he agrees, settling his cheek against her thigh once more. "I just cannot shake the feeling that I am partly to blame for his death," he says.

"You are not to blame in any way for your father's death, Arthur." She says it with such conviction that he finds himself believing it. Perhaps he simply needed someone to tell him.

"Thank you, Guinevere," he replies.

Guinevere moves her hand to cup his cheek. "You helped me. It is my turn help you now."

Arthur looks up at her with new eyes, realizing she is truly becoming her own person. Becoming the herself.

xXx

Word of the king's death traveled fast throughout the kingdom, and the people began leaving flowers and tokens at the castle gates by mid-afternoon.

Messengers were dispatched to appropriate parties and neighboring kingdoms. Lord Agravaine and Morgana, already en route because of the Council meeting, were the first to arrive. Agravaine demanded to know what happened, wanting to know who was responsible. He didn't believe the story until Arthur personally told him, and even then, he seemed to want to cling to the idea that the king's death was not an accident.

"Father loves nothing more than a good scandal," Morgana had whispered to Guinevere. "It's very tiring. I wish he would find a _constructive_ hobby. You know, one that doesn't involve either stirring up trouble or marrying me off to the most eligible toad he can find." Guinevere found herself very grateful for her skill in keeping herself from laughing. It is a necessity while in Morgana's company.

The king's body was laid on a ceremonial stone table in the great hall. After dinner, the royal family went to pay their respects. Then, Arthur was to remain overnight, sitting vigil at the king's side.

While the prince was sequestered, the princess sat outside on a bench in the corridor, keeping a vigil of her own while the castle bustled around them, preparing for the funeral the next morning and the coronation the next evening.

When his duties for the night were finished, Merlin joined her.

xXx

"Guinevere, have you been here all night?" Arthur asks, his eyes heavy but strangely bright as he emerges from the great hall shortly after daybreak.

She stands, her knees stiff. "Yes," she answers. "It didn't seem right for me to sleep while you were awake all night."

He hugs her closer and says, "I told you to get some sleep," his voice devoid of any reproach. He is truly touched by her act.

"I know," she answers, and pecks his lips. "And did not listen to you."

Despite the somber hour, Arthur laughs and gives her another squeeze before turning towards Merlin. "Merlin, I assume you kept the princess company?"

"Of course," the servant answers. "We did not want you to feel as though you were alone."

"Thank you," Arthur says, and gives Merlin a brief, uncharacteristic hug. Then he looks his servant in the eyes and gives him a brief nod.

Merlin's lips curve into a very slight smile, correctly understanding his master's nod as the acknowledgment of their friendship. "Go up to your chambers and freshen up. Sefa will have basins of water waiting for both of you, and I will bring you some breakfast shortly," he says.

Arthur claps Merlin on the shoulder, then takes Guinevere's hand as they head towards their rooms.

xXx

The funeral is too long by everyone's standards except the late king's. They had to honor his wishes, which it turned out were written down in a book Geoffrey had in the archives.

By the end, everyone is tired and hungry, and the feast is unusually quiet because people are too busy eating to have conversations.

Guinevere, being unaccustomed to going without rest, is near complete exhaustion and barely eats half of her meal. Arthur sends her up to their chambers to get some sleep, promising he'll join her as soon as he can.

Thankfully, not even the grief of the king's death or the anticipation of being crowned king and queen can keep them from slumber, but they are woken from their nap much sooner than they would have liked.

"Duty calls," Guinevere sleepily mumbles.

"Sod duty," Arthur replies, swatting at Merlin, trying to get him to go away.

"We can sleep in tomorrow," she says, sitting up. She glances at Merlin for confirmation that they have nothing planned early in the day, and when the servant nods, she adds, "I promise," and kisses his cheek. "Now get up. Your people need their king."

"The king needs his sleep," Arthur counters, but drags himself out of bed.

"Here, drink this," Merlin instructs, handing Arthur a cup.

"What is it?" Arthur asks, sniffing it.

"Gaius sent it. There is a one for you as well, my lady."

"Oh, um…" Guinevere says, not sure if she is grateful. Especially when Arthur takes a sip and coughs.

"It's some sort of herbal… pick-me-up… I think," Merlin says.

"Have you ever had it?" Arthur asks, staring suspiciously down into his cup.

"No," Merlin answers, already bustling about, tidying the bed before laying out Arthur's clothes. "I function on very little sleep most of the time. I don't think my body would know what to do with rest."

"Arthur, you work Merlin too hard," Guinevere says, taking an experimental sip. Whatever it is is very strong and slightly bitter. "Ugh."

"I do not," Arthur protests.

"He really doesn't," Merlin insists. "This is just how I was made. Nearly drove my mother mad when I was a toddler. At least that's what she tells me."

"I don't doubt that," Arthur says. He takes another drink. "I drank half. That's all I can take," he declares, setting the cup down with a decisive _thunk_.

"And that is twice the amount I can tolerate," Guinevere says. She hands he cup to Sefa and heads behind the changing screen. Sefa sniffs the brew, makes a face, and sets it on the table.

Arthur is dressed and ready before Guinevere, so he paces while he waits. "Merlin, whatever was in that drink has me unable to sit still," he says.

"I am feeling a bit jittery myself," Guinevere agrees, fidgeting at her vanity while Sefa does her hair, taking care to arrange it so that a crown can easily be placed on her head.

"I guess it's a good thing we didn't drink the entire thing," Arthur says, stopping near his wife. "Guinevere, you look beautiful. I know I tell you this every day, but… you look stunning. Regal."

She is clad in a beautiful lavender and gold gown with flowing sleeves and a low neckline. Her hair is pulled away from her face and hanging long down her back. "I do?" she asks. "I feel… I feel as though I am playing dress-up in my mother's clothes."

He offers his hands and she takes them, standing before him. "Was this your mother's gown?" he asks.

"Yes. It was her coronation gown. Father brought it for me," she says. Thomas and Elyan had ridden overnight and arrived just as the funeral was beginning, slipping unnoticed into the back of the hall.

"That was thoughtful of him. Is… is seeing you in her dress going to be painful for him?" he asks.

"I would hope that since he brought it, he would be all right with seeing me in it," she reasons. "He always said how much I favor her."

Arthur reaches up and strokes Guinevere's cheek. "I remember very little from my visit to your kingdom. I remember your hair," he moves his hand to touch the soft curls, "and I remember your mother as a beautiful woman holding a baby."

"Elyan," Guinevere says, smiling. He nods.

"Arthur, it's time," Merlin says.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur replies. He tucks his wife's hand into the crook of his elbow, pauses a moment, says, "No, that doesn't feel right, does it?" and then takes her hand.

"You look very handsome, Arthur," Guinevere says. "Like a golden king."

"I feel like an impostor," he quietly replies, not wanting the people milling around to hear his confession. "I'm only 18; I'm not ready to be king."

She tugs his hand and they stop. "I'm scared, too, but… we will do this, Arthur. We _can_ do this. Because we have to. Because it is our duty," she says, looking up into his worried blue eyes.

He gazes down at her upturned face and sees the wisdom hidden behind her lovely, sweet young countenance. Suddenly, he knows that with her by his side, he can indeed do this. "Yes," he declares. "Together, we will. We draw strength from each other."

"Yes. Partners," she agrees, remembering his words on their wedding night. Arthur bends down and suddenly kisses her, taking her by surprise. It is a short but passionate kiss, and they are out in the corridor where anyone can – and does – see. Servants pass, pretending not to notice. Courtiers walk by and either smile or raise a judgmental eyebrow.

Arthur doesn't care. "All right, Love," he says, "let's get this over with."

Guinevere giggles and they continue on to the great hall.

xXx

Thankfully, the coronation is much shorter than the funeral, something Arthur ensured by grabbing Geoffrey's elbow and menacingly whispering, "Keep it short," in his ear.

As the coronation took place after dinner, there is no feast. Arthur and Guinevere did not get an evening meal, but sleep was more important at the time. Most of the courtiers and guests remained in the great hall following the ceremony, and soon servants started appearing with wine and trays bearing small finger foods.

It is a rather informal gathering for a coronation, but Arthur did not think it necessary to demand so much of castle staff, especially on such short notice. Guinevere agreed, and wondered if Uther would have approved of such a thing. _Not that it matters now._

Guinevere sees Arthur talking with Lord Agravaine a short distance away. He looks rather cross with his uncle. "Excuse me, Father," she says. "I think I need to rescue Arthur from his Uncle."

"What?" Thomas asks, taken by surprise. "Oh, I see. Lord Agravaine is…" he searches for a word that is both appropriate and appropriate to say to his daughter and comes up empty.

"Yes, I know," she answers, patting his hand before making her way over to her husband. She passes Morgana on her way and taps her on the shoulder.

"Uther was never a careless rider, Arthur," Agravaine says, looking sideways at his nephew. "He was rarely careless about anything, in fact. Unless he was very upset."

"What, exactly, are you saying, Uncle?" Arthur asks, holding his hand out as his wife approaches. She takes it. Morgana had followed Guinevere over and stands nearby as well, looking like a panther ready to pounce.

Agravaine shrugs. "Nothing," he lightly answers. "But I seem to recall that no one could upset him the way you could, Nephew."

Arthur's jaw twitches. "Lord Agravaine, don't you have a shipment arriving in one of Cameliard's ports soon?" Guinevere interjects, squeezing her husband's very tense hand. "My father mentioned it and I'm certain he would love to speak with you about making transport arrangements."

"Come, Father, I'll take you. I have been looking for an excuse to say hello to Prince Elyan," Morgana says. She takes her father's arm and leads him away before he can say anything.

"Thank you," Arthur sighs, taking both of Guinevere's hands. "He's the only connection I have left to my mother, but he's a bit of a toad."

Guinevere stifles her giggle and says, "He was still making accusations, wasn't he?"

"Not directly." He looks troubled again, and she squeezes his hands.

"Arthur, you didn't make your father choose that overgrown path that day," she reiterates, gently pulling him to the side of the hall. She sees a door leading to the balcony, and guides him outside into the cool late summer night. Outside, she presses her lips together, debating her next words.

He senses she's struggling with something. "Please, Guinevere, say what is on your mind," he urges.

"Uther Pendragon made his own choices. He always has. And…" she pauses, taking a deep breath, "…often they weren't the best choices." She watches him carefully, hoping she hasn't overstepped or offended. He wanted her honest opinions, and this is the first time she's gone this far with one. When he nods, she breathes again.

"Look what he did to you," he allows.

"And you," she points out. "He chose to let your nursemaid raise you. He chose to take an interest only in your training. Which he also chose to let someone else to do, despite being completely capable of training you himself."

Arthur nods again. "It doesn't change the fact that he was my father and I loved him."

"Of course it doesn't," she agrees. "My father made mistakes, too. You will make mistakes with our children," she says, a sudden blush rising to her cheeks at the mention of children. "And so will I," she quickly adds, noting how his eyes softened and darkened just slightly as he looked down at her. "But you can love your father and still acknowledge that he was flawed."

He lifts her hands and kisses them. "Have I told you that you are a very wise woman, Wife?" he asks. "You are going to be an excellent queen."

She smiles and looks down. "I was worried that my bold words were going to upset you," she admits.

He lifts her chin. "Never be afraid to speak your mind to me."

"I'm still… un-learning what I was taught, but I am trying," she replies.

"You are doing an excellent job," he assures her. "And I loved your bold words, Guinevere," he adds, realizing that not only does he love her bold words, but he may love her as well.


	7. Chapter 7

" _In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art." -Rumi_

The sight of Queen Guinevere walking past the training grounds with a basket has become quite a familiar one for the knights. She always has a kind smile for the men and will blow a kiss to King Arthur when she catches his eye.

"What is she always up to with that basket?" Sir Bors wonders aloud one day.

"She'll be headin' to the gardens," Sir Gwaine answers, moving a bit, looking as though he is trying to get a better view of the young queen. "She collects herbs and flower petals to make little pouches for her wardrobe to keep her clothes smelling nice. I'm sure she does other things with them, too. Probably."

Bors looks sideways at Gwaine. "You seem to know a lot about it," he says.

"Ah, well, we've happened to cross paths a few times, and I always offer to carry her wee basket for her," Gwaine says, turning back towards Bors now that Guinevere is out of sight. He glances over at Lancelot for a moment and adds, "I am an honorable man and a knight of the realm, and as such, I must always offer my services to any lady, be she queen or peasant." He raises his sword, then slices it through the air with a _swoosh_ , preparing to spar again.

"Yes, well you may be an honorable man, but your skirt tells me you're nothing more than a little girl playing with her da's sword," Bors taunts with a grin.

"It's a kilt, you boggin gobshite," Gwaine returns. He snorts. "Look at you, throwin' around insults like a big man when you're barely weaned from your ma's teat. Tell me, when do ye start shavin' then?"

Bors circles, biding his time. "When _you_ learn to stop flapping your pie-hole," he says, and attacks.

Gwaine laughs as he ably defends himself, then quickly and easily defeats the young knight.

"Less work on your banter and more on your footwork," Arthur says as he passes, helping Bors to his feet. "Keep your movements deliberate and your expression neutral," he adds. "I could read you like a banner, and I was clear over there."

"Yes, Sire," Bors says.

"And you," Arthur turns on Gwaine, "stop showing off. Save the fancy stuff for tournaments; no one is impressed here."

Gwaine purses his lips, then nods. In the two months since he and Lancelot have joined the ranks, he has yet to defeat the king a second time. Though not for lack of trying.

xXx

"…Finally, the repairs to the road through the lower town are progressing well, and should be completed by the end of the week," Sir Leon finishes his report and sits. Those gathered at the Council meeting try not to let their relieved sighs be too obvious.

"Thank you, Sir Leon," Arthur says. He looks over his parchment a moment. "That appears to be our last order of business. Unless anyone has anything else they wish to address?" He looks around, noting the anxious looks on most of the faces seated at the table. He knows most of them are thinking _Please, no one say anything_ because that is what he is thinking as well.

Then Lord Agravaine clears his throat.

"Lord Agravaine, you have something you wish to say?" Arthur asks, inwardly cringing. He sees Guinevere shift in her seat beside him, clearly feeling the same way.

"Yes," Agravaine says. "Well… it is a… a delicate matter, and I only bring it up because I know several of my fellow lords have been wondering this same thing, and…"

"Your point," Arthur prompts. He is tired and wants to have a bath and a moment's peace before dinner.

"Well, my lord," Agravaine begins, "It has been… about four months since you and Queen Guinevere have wed?"

"Yes," Arthur tightly answers, his stomach twisting as he realizes where this conversation is going.

"There has been some concern about an heir, my lord," Agravaine finally gets to his point. "People are beginning to fret that the queen may be barren. Begging your pardon, my lady."

Arthur glances at Guinevere and sees that while she has made her face into a mask, he is able to see how upset she is beneath her façade.

His eyes narrow as he looks at his uncle. "Tell me, Lord Agravaine, how many months were you and Lady Vivienne married before she became with child?" he asks. It is a blunt question, but effective. Agravaine mumbles an answer. "What was that? I don't believe I heard you." Arthur already knows the answer, but he is making a point.

"It was three years, my lord," Agravaine nearly spits.

"And my parents were married more than a year before I was conceived," he says, his anger flaring. "The queen and I—"

"May _I_ say something?" Guinevere suddenly asks, her voice clear and steady as she decides she will not sit in silence and let them discuss her as though she isn't there. All heads turn in her direction, faces surprised and, in a few cases, very curious. The queen has attended several Council meetings, but this is the first time she's spoken up.

A slight smile plays across Arthur's features. "Of course," he immediately answers.

She stands. "All this talk about my… my _fertility_ ," she stresses the word, knowing it will make most of the men seated around her slightly uncomfortable, "is not only premature, but disrespectful. Yes, we have been married four months. But it has _only_ been four months. How many of you have children?" She looks around at the table and sees most of the men's hands raised. "And how many of your wives became with child on your wedding night?" One hand remains up. "Furthermore, how many of _you_ would enjoy the notion of the entire court, nay, the entire _kingdom_ essentially discussing your marital activities? None, I would wager." There are more than a few heads nodding sheepishly around the table. "I suggest we keep _gossip_ out of Council meetings before you all begin to sound like a bunch of… fishwives."

"Very well said, Guinevere," Arthur agrees, glaring at Agravaine, who looks like he is sucking on something sour.

"You will forgive my early departure from this meeting," Guinevere says. She has not sat back down yet. "I seem to have developed a headache," she adds, her tone rather icy.

Arthur takes her hand and kisses it, then looks up at her, hoping she can see how proud he is of her. She grants him a small smile before striding from the hall, her head held high.

xXx

Arthur immediately heads for the royal chambers after the meeting, Merlin trailing behind him, barely able to keep up despite his legs being longer than the king's. Agravaine had attempted to catch Arthur's attention for a private word, but the king ignored him, being in no mood to hear anything further from his uncle.

He pushes open the doors to find Morgana sitting with Guinevere, the two women talking quietly together. The queen's eyes are dry and she no longer appears upset.

"Guinevere, I am so proud of you," Arthur says, walking over to her with his hands outstretched.

She takes his hands and stands. He wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head.

"There is no excuse for my father's behavior," Morgana says, clearly as upset as they. "I am positively _mortified._ "

"Thank you, Morgana," Arthur says. He often wonders how his cousin can stomach living with her father, but has never asked.

"Morgana saw me leaving the meeting early and had to come and find out what happened," Guinevere explains, stepping out of her husband's embrace to sit back down. Arthur sits beside her.

"She didn't want to tell me at first," Morgana explains. "But I eventually convinced her. I, for one, think this whole business about the queen only being good for making princes is rubbish." She pauses. "I also _know_ my father is a fool."

"A milder word than I want to use, but it works," Arthur says. "And I agree with you. Guinevere knows how I feel about the queen's role in the kingdom," he adds, taking her hand.

"And how is that exactly?" Morgana asks, intrigued.

"He wants an equal, someone who will rule _with_ him. If he does something I feel is wrong, I should tell him," Guinevere answers.

Arthur nods. "And that is a very large reason why my father's interference in Guinevere's upbringing was a problem."

"A mess, that's what it was. You aren't him at all," Morgana observes. She shakes her head. "Aunt Igraine was a strong woman, and Uther loved her. She wasn't subservient at all. I can't imagine why he thought this would be a good idea."

"The man he became after my mother's death was not the man he was. At least, that is what I am given to understand," Arthur says. "In any case, my beautiful queen showed the council who she is today, and I could not be happier about it," he says, beaming proudly at his wife.

"Yes, I think it's wonderful that she spoke up," Morgana agrees. "Keep doing that," she adds, giving Guinevere a nod.

"Especially with my uncle," Arthur says with a smile. Then he takes her hands and asks, "Honestly though… are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine now," she answers. "I was quite angry. I felt shamed… humiliated. I decided I couldn't sit by and let him cast aspersions in my direction, to my face no less. Thank you for defending me, but… I felt I should speak up in my own defense."

Arthur nods. "I'm glad you did. And you were right to do so. I think you've certainly given some of those old lords something to ponder on their rides home."

"Good," Guinevere replies.

"Which reminds me, I need to find Sir Gwaine and say goodbye before father and I leave," Morgana says.

"You won't be staying for dinner?" Arthur asks.

"I would love to, but I think it would be best if we go home," Morgana says, standing. "Father has done enough damage for one day. And I can't imagine you would be relishing his company this evening anyway."

"Ha, probably not," Arthur chuckles. He steps over to his cousin and hugs her. "Thank you for being there for Guinevere when I could not," he says.

"My pleasure," Morgana says, then turns to hug Guinevere as well.

"Thank you," she echoes. "Have a safe trip home."

"You're welcome," Morgana replies. "I may be having a few words with my father on the way," she says, lightly smirking. Then she turns and exits.

Arthur wraps his arms around Guinevere, just holding her for a minute. "Merlin," he says at length, and the servant appears from the other side of the room.

"Did you still wish for a bath, my lord?" Merlin asks.

"Yes. No. Perhaps," Arthur slowly answers.

"I don't mind," Guinevere says. "I'm fine now, honest." She knows he was looking forward to a nice soak and doesn't want him to deprive himself because of her.

He kisses her, then says, "Yes, Merlin. I would like that bath." Merlin nods and heads out to start preparing the water.

"I am due to meet the royal seamstress anyway," Guinevere comments. "The weather will be turning cold soon and I will be requiring a few more items."

"The seamstress should be coming to you, not you to her," Arthur says.

"Well, she cannot really do that if you are having a bath, can she?" she asks, tilting her head at him.

He chuckles, then smiles. "One more then," he says, leaning down to kiss her again before she leaves.

xXx

Despite Arthur's best efforts, Agravaine still succeeds in catching him for a few words before he departed. He knocks on the doors to the royal chambers after seeing Guinevere walking through the corridors, and Arthur, thinking it is Merlin or one of the pages with the beginnings of his bathwater, opens the door without first checking to see who is there.

"Uncle," he says, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Arthur, I would like a private word before I go," Agravaine says, pushing his way inside.

"As long as it is not about the queen," Arthur replies, closing the door.

"Well, it may be… indirectly," Agravaine says.

"Tread carefully," Arthur warns. "My patience with you is quite thin right now, and while you _are_ my uncle, I would like to remind you that _I_ am your king."

"Of course, my lord," Agravaine obsequiously replies, deliberately addressing Arthur by title. "I just wished to caution you about one of your new knights."

"Which one?" Arthur asks, already knowing the answer.

"The Celt," Agravaine says. "Keep a close eye on him."

"Sir Gwaine has been an excellent and well-behaved knight since his arrival here," Arthur protests, confused. "Yes, he is a bit unconventional, but he has not broken a single rule or violated the Knights' Code in any way."

Agravaine's lips press into a tight line. "Yes, well… I've heard rumors about that so-called 'knight', from both within the kingdom and without," he comments.

"What kind of rumors?"

"The man has loose morals. Why do you think he had no home before he came here?"

Arthur looks at him, debating the believability of his uncle's words. He knows Gwaine is fond of Guinevere, but all the knights are. He knows with every fiber of his being that any one of his knights would lay down their life for her. As would he. "What, exactly, are you insinuating, Uncle?" he finally asks.

"All I will say is: Keep a close eye on the attention he pays to your queen. She is beautiful and young, and to a man like that, she is nothing but temptation," Agravaine says. "She is spirited though, which we saw earlier, but I'm afraid spirit is no match for a man trained in battle who is twice her size."

Arthur narrows his eyes at his uncle, extremely skeptical. "Thank you for your counsel," he vaguely says, reaching for the door handle. "Safe travels," he adds, opening the door.

Agravaine nods, then exits. In the corridor, a slow, sly smile creeps across his face.

Arthur leans against the door, thinking a moment. He has seen Gwaine accompanying Guinevere on several occasions, often carrying her basket or assisting her with some task. Lancelot is often present as well, but he usually keeps to himself. He doesn't recall seeing anything alarming or inappropriate between his wife and the knight, and no one else has felt the need to make mention of their friendship.

The door shifts, someone clearly trying to open it, and Arthur moves away from the it. Merlin enters, followed by some pages with buckets. "Merlin," Arthur calls, and Merlin stops, waiting to see what his master needs.

"Yes, my lord?" he asks. "I just saw Lord Agravaine looking smug; am I correct in assuming he was here and said something that irritated you?"

Arthur nods. "Have you seen any inappropriate behavior between the queen and Sir Gwaine?" he asks.

Merlin's brow furrows a moment, his expression incredulous. "No," he answers. "I think he is fond of her, but no more so than any of the rest of us. Present company excluded, of course."

Arthur nods. "That's what I thought."


	8. Chapter 8

" _Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love." -Shakespeare_

Arthur tried not to let his uncle's words take hold, but over the next few weeks, every time he saw Gwaine near Guinevere, he found himself on high alert.

He wanted to say something, to discuss it with her, but he could never find the right words. He didn't want to simply openly accuse Gwaine of misconduct, but he cannot deny the fact that the knight is, in fact, quite friendly with his wife. So he chose to continue watching and waiting, hoping that Guinevere wouldn't notice any change in his demeanor.

He knows he can trust her. It's Gwaine about whom he isn't certain. And, ideally, he wants to gather all the facts before he acts.

Then one autumn afternoon, Arthur is walking through the courtyard, having just left the stables. A foal that was born earlier in the year had recently taken ill, and he went to see how the creature was faring.

He sees Guinevere walking, wearing a cloak to protect against the slight chill in the air. Sir Gwaine is with her, carrying her basket. They are chatting companionably, and then Gwaine says something that makes her laugh, and she touches his arm.

"Guinevere." Arthur calls to her before he's taken a chance to fully think it through, and his feet are already taking him in their direction.

"Oh, there you are," she answers, giving him a charming smile before tilting her cheek upwards for him to kiss.

He does so, then asks, "Where are you going?"

"To the marketplace," she answers. "Sir Gwaine volunteered to be my escort and bodyguard."

"My lord," Gwaine nods.

Arthur pauses a beat before saying, "Sir Gwaine, I would like a word with you."

"Is this something requiring immediate attention, or can it wait until we return?" Guinevere asks.

"I'm sorry, Love, but I'm afraid it cannot wait," Arthur says, looking around. There are several knights milling around the courtyard, and he sees Leon, Lancelot, and Bors a short distance away. "You lads!" he calls. "The queen requires an escort to the marketplace."

Leon opens his mouth immediately, but Lancelot steps forward and volunteers before the senior knight can speak. "It would be my honor to escort the queen," he quietly says.

"Sire, I really think—" Gwaine tries, watching Lancelot walk over. The other knight keeps his gaze on the king.

"I am not interested in what you think at the moment, Sir Gwaine," Arthur interjects. Guinevere looks over at Arthur, surprised at his tone.

"My lord," Lancelot says with a bow. "My lady." He lifts the basket from Gwaine's arm, and Gwaine holds it just long enough to catch his friend's eye and give him what he hopes is a very stern glare.

"Arthur," Guinevere quietly says, tugging her husband's elbow, "is everything all right?"

His face softens when he looks down at her. He kisses her forehead and says, "I just need to ask Sir Gwaine a few questions, that's all. I'll tell you all about it later. Have a good time at the marketplace."

She nods, then steps over towards Sir Lancelot. She can feel some strange tension between the two knights, but chalks it up to Gwaine's disappointment over not getting to go to the market. She promised him she'd help him choose a nice gift for Morgana, and now they'll have to do it another time.

"Sir Gwaine," Arthur says, his demeanor stony again.

"Sire," Gwaine replies, gives Guinevere a worried glance, then follows the king into the castle.

xXx

"Does the cold not bother you, Sir Lancelot?" Guinevere asks, trying to make conversation with the quiet knight. They had been walking silently for several minutes.

"Not very much," he answers.

"Aragon has a warmer climate, does it not?" she prods, trying to get more of a response.

" _Sí, mi reina_ , it is, but not as much as you might think."

"What does that mean, ' _mi reina_ '?" she asks, curious.

He stops and turns to her. "It means 'my queen', _florecita_." He pauses and moves closer, explaining, "That means 'little flower'. For you are the most beautiful flower in the land."

She steps back. "Sir Lancelot, it is not appropriate for you to say such things to me."

He moves closer still, catching her hand in his when she reflexively raises it to keep him at a distance. "Guinevere," he huskily says, kissing her hand as he addresses her familiarly, " _Te adoro. Te necesito_."

She pulls her hand away and tries to back further away, only now realizing he's somehow led her into a small, secluded street. There is no one around. "Step back, sir," she tries, keeping her hands under her cloak, hoping they stay hidden. "I did not give you leave to address me by name."

He doesn't move; in fact, he presses closer, carelessly tossing the basket aside. "You cannot know true love, true _pasión_ , in this… arranged marriage of yours," he says, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "Allow me to teach you, _mi amor, mi vida_." He lowers his head and murmurs, " _Quiero que seas mío, amorcito_ ," his lips hovering just over hers.

xXx

"Sire, I must protest," Gwaine finally speaks once they are inside the great hall. Arthur would neither look at nor speak to him as they walked, and the knight didn't want to have the discussion he is afraid they are about to have out where others could hear them.

"You protest?" Arthur asks, spinning to glare at him. " _You?_ The man who is trying to commit treason by wooing the queen?"

Gwaine closes his eyes, then looks at the ceiling, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "It is not me who you should be questioning," he answers, trying to maintain his composure.

"And yet I am," Arthur replies. "Because it is _you_ I keep seeing with my wife. Acting the proper knight, coming to the aid of a lady in need. Don't think I haven't seen the attention you've been paying her."

"I am merely—"

"I do not wish to hear your lies and excuses!" Arthur interrupts, raising his voice. He deliberately moves his hand to rest on his sword. "All I want to know is the truth. I want to know if you are attempting to seduce Queen Guinevere."

xXx

Guinevere ducks her head out of Lancelot's path. Her small dagger clutched in her hand, she jabs him in the thigh through her cloak.

" _Ai! Puta!_ " he hisses, anger flashing across his face, turning his handsome features cruel and ugly. She attempts to flee and he grabs her elbow, holding it out and yanking the dagger from her grasp. "You are not going anywhere, _Reina_ ," he says, practically spitting the word at her now. He throws the knife.

She pulls against his painful grasp. "Let go of me!" she yells, hoping someone hears her.

"You will be mine, one way or anoth— _ai!_ " He yells out in pain again when she stomps on his foot, high on his instep, where Arthur showed her. His grip slips on her arm and she unclasps her cloak to get away.

Once again, he is too fast for her, grabbing for her again. His fingers catch the bodice of her dress, but she pulls with all her might, leaving him with a scrap of material in his hands and her with a ruined dress.

She runs.

He is smart enough to not follow.

xXx

"Do you know _why_ Lancelot left Aragon?" Gwaine asks, trying to keep his cool. In truth, he is more worried about Guinevere than himself right now.

"I'm not interested in Sir Lancelot," Arthur snaps. "But since you mentioned it, I _am_ interested in why _you_ left Armagh."

"Well, you _should_ be interested in Lancelot," Gwaine replies.

"Tell me why you left Armagh," Arthur demands.

Helpless, Gwaine shrugs. "I left because I am the youngest of six sons, and my two oldest brothers already have sons of their own. There is nothing for me in my home except boredom and possibly the prospect of marrying the youngest or plainest daughter of another lord," he answers.

"Right," Arthur coldly states, scoffing. "You would leave your family, your home, and your birthright to wander the country like a… a peasant? By choice?" His voice rises as he speaks. "You expect me to stand here and believe—"

"Arthur, stop!" Guinevere's shout has the desired effect, and Arthur immediately ceases yelling, struck by his wife's outburst. He's never heard her raise her voice before – no one has – and it shocks both the king and the knight into stunned silence. Both men turn to see her standing in the doorway, looking rather unwell. A concerned-looking Sir Leon can be seen just behind her.

"Sir Gwaine is above reproach, Arthur!" she exclaims, her voice still shaky. She walks towards them. Leon hesitates a moment, then when Arthur dismisses him with a wave of his hand, he closes the doors, giving them privacy. "First of all, I would never so much as _look_ at another man… I love _you,_ Arthur. Only you." She pauses, wringing her hands. A few tears slip from her eyes and she adds, "I… I know now that Gwaine's friendship has been his way of protecting me. He was preventing Sir _Lancelot_ from… from attempting to commit treason!"

The break in her voice makes Arthur finally notice his wife's disheveled appearance and he rushes to her. "What. Did. He. Do?" he asks in low, measured tones, his hand gently coming up to touch her chin, angling her head this way at that. "Did he touch you?" His voice is quiet and his touch tender, but the other two can see the rage simmering just below the surface.

Guinevere has never seen her husband so angry. "He… he tried… I resisted… I tried to get away, and he…" she pauses again, her voice shaky as she tries to collect herself. Arthur gathers her in his arms, his concern for his wife overshadowing the rage she knows is bubbling just beneath it. "I had to use my dagger," she hoarsely whispers.

"Is he still alive?" Arthur asks, stroking her hair. She is trembling and he can feel her breathing coming in erratic bursts. He holds her for several minutes, letting her answer when she is ready.

"Yes," she finally replies, her voice muffled from where it is buried in his tunic. Her breathing has evened out and she is no longer shaking, but she doesn't feel completely settled yet.

"He's going to wish otherwise when I am through with him," he darkly replies. He gently pulls away from Guinevere, smoothes her hair away from her face, and brushes the tears from her cheeks. "Are you all right?" he softly asks, noting her torn bodice and disheveled hair. There is a bruise forming around her elbow that would surely match the size and shape of Lancelot's hand. Guinevere sees her husband's jaw twitch when his eyes take note of the mark, and she knows he is really struggling to contain his anger for her sake.

"I will be fine. I'm just… quite shaken up," she answers.

Arthur kisses her forehead, then drops his head against hers for a second. "Sir Gwaine," he says.

"Sire," Gwaine steps forward. He had dropped back to allow his king and queen a semblance of privacy.

Arthur lifts his head and looks over Guinevere at the knight. "I apologize for my accusations and for not believing you. It won't happen again."

"Thank you, Sire."

"Please look after the queen. I need to have a few… words… with _Sir_ Lancelot," Arthur says, passing his wife's hand to the knight before his hand again falls to the hilt of his sword. "Where did you leave him?" he asks Guinevere.

"Under the bridge to the north of the smithy," she answers.

"You won't find him anywhere in the citadel, mate," Gwaine volunteers, tucking the queen's hand into the crook of his arm and giving it a soft pat. "He likely lit out as soon as the queen escaped his grasp, knowing she would be coming straight to you. I doubt he even took the time to come back to his room and collect his things."

"Thank you, Gwaine. I'll gather a search party. He can't have gotten far," Arthur replies with a nod.

"Arthur," Guinevere calls as he strides away. "Don't… don't take his life." The king stops cold, as though the concept of _not_ killing Lancelot was the farthest thing from his mind. "I could not bear that weight," Guinevere explains in a whisper, her eyes large and watery.

Arthur turns, his face softening as he looks at her. "If that is your wish," he finally says. "For your sake, he may have his life. But if he should ever step foot in Camelot again, his punishment will be final."

"I understand," she whispers, and he turns and strides away.

xXx

Arthur returns to the royal chambers just over an hour later, looking tired, an equally-tired Merlin accompanying him. Guinevere is reclined on the bench by the window, attended by Sefa. Sir Gwaine is still there as well.

"Did you find him?" Guinevere asks.

"Yes," Arthur answers. "Don't get up," he says, seeing her start to rise. "He's in the dungeons." He hands Guinevere's torn and soiled cloak to Sefa, who reluctantly takes it. She loves her mistress and was quite upset by what happened to her. She doesn't even want to touch the cloak that the so-called "knight" sullied with his touch.

"I thought you were going to banish him," Gwaine comments, clearly speaking the thoughts of everyone in the room.

Arthur hands his sword to Merlin, then takes Guinevere's dagger, which he found, out of his belt and sets it on her vanity. He sits on the bench, lifting Guinevere's feet onto his lap. "I could not, in good conscience, allow him to just roam the land and continue to menace other innocent women."

"That is very wise of you," Gwaine says. "I have been telling the queen about why Lancelot left Aragon."

"You tried to tell me," Arthur regretfully replies. "I am guessing 'fled' is a more appropriate word than 'left', based on what I now know."

"Aye," Gwaine nods. "He disgraced his family and himself, not to mention what he did to that poor _señorita_."

"What are you going to do with him?" Guinevere asks.

"I don't know," Arthur admits, absently rubbing his wife's feet. "I don't want him here, but I can't set him free."

"Write to his family," she suggests after a moment. "Surely they are looking for him. Write to Don Santiago and tell him what Lancelot has done. Tell him we have him in our dungeon."

"Guinevere, that is brilliant, Love," Arthur says, leaning over to kiss her. "But will they come for him?"

"They will come fetch him; I know it," Gwaine says, nodding. "Some of his father's men came close once. I helped him avoid them, not knowing why. After, I forced him to tell me. Once I knew, I hated myself for helping him."

"Why did you stay with him then?" Arthur asks.

"To keep him in line," Gwaine simply replies. "People tend to see me as the threat – yourself included – and think he is nothing but a quiet, charming knight. I have used that to my advantage more than once. You were simply the first person who was successful in separating us long enough for him to act on his despicable impulses."

"I basically handed you to him on a platter," Arthur says, dropping his head into his hands.

"Arthur, this isn't your fault," Guinevere says, touching his shoulder. "You couldn't have known."

"I could have listened to what Gwaine was trying to tell me," he counters.

"Nah, you couldn't have," Gwaine assesses. "You were in no state to listen to anything I had to say."

Arthur sharply looks over at the knight, his anger flaring for a moment before he realizes his statement is correct. "True," he says, deflating. "Please forgive me, Guinevere," he says to his wife, taking her hand and kissing it.

"You have done nothing needing my forgiveness, Arthur," she replies. "Lancelot knew what he was doing. He knew how to play the unassuming, noble knight."

"He's had plenty of practice," Gwaine mutters. "And I, too, have already begged forgiveness from our good queen," he adds, giving her a small smile. Then he looks at Arthur. "I tell you, mate, if you were plannin' on killin' him, I'd happily help ye."

Arthur huffs a dry chuckle, then says, "I assume this is why you were hesitant to stay."

"Aye," Gwaine nods. "I had already seen the looks he was givin' the queen. He wanted to stay. He promised me he would behave himself. Swore it on the memory of his _abuela_ – his beloved grandmother. Said this is the life he has always wanted and would be able to reform if he had something like this – being a Knight of Camelot – to occupy his time and energy."

"Empty words," Arthur darkly says.

"I think he did intend… or thought he could… but, well… ye can put fancy clothes on a pig, but underneath, he's still a pig," Gwaine says.

"Indeed," Arthur agrees. "How are you feeling?" he asks Guinevere, suddenly looking very tired.

"Better, thank you. Sir Gwaine is actually a fascinating – and honorable – knight," she says with a smile. "He's been telling me stories from his childhood in Armagh."

"Thank you, my lady," Gwaine answers, bowing with a surprising amount of flourish given that he is seated.

Arthur raises an eyebrow and give Gwaine a sideways glance. "I'm not certain I wish to know," he says.

Guinevere smiles, then her face goes thoughtful. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course. Unlike some other people, I have nothing to hide," he answers, grinning.

"You understand what Lancelot says when he speaks his native tongue, correct?" she asks.

Gwaine's grin falls. "A fair amount," he hesitantly answers.

"I don't remember all of what he said, but he did say one thing right after I stabbed him…" she ventures.

"My lady, I am not certain this is…"

"What does ' _puta_ ' mean?" she asks.

"Um," Gwaine clears his throat. "I would rather not say, my lady."

Guinevere nods and glances at Arthur, who looks a bit befuddled. "That's what I thought it meant," she replies, and realization dawns on her husband's face.

Gwaine stands. "You are an observant and intelligent woman, my lady. More so than many," he says. "And I am sure the two of you would like some time alone, so by your leave, I'll be taking my exit."

"Thank you, Gwaine," Guinevere says.

"Yes," Arthur adds. "Thank you. I won't forget this."

xXx

Guinevere had changed clothes when she returned to their chambers, but what she really wants is a bath. As soon as Arthur learns this, he sets Sefa and Merlin to the task, and the queen's bath is ready in a short time.

He remained in the room as she changed and slipped into the hot, fragrant water, and when Sefa moves to see to her mistress, Arthur steps over. "I will tend the queen," he quietly says.

"Oh… yes, my lord," a surprised Sefa replies. She places the cloth in his outstretched hand, bobs a quick curtsey, and scurries from the room.

"Arthur?" Guinevere asks, watching as he sits down on the low stool Sefa uses to aid the queen in her bath.

"I hate that he touched you," Arthur admits, lightly running the cloth over the bruise on her arm. "I hate that he hurt you… that he left marks on your beautiful skin… I hate that he frightened you."

"He didn't do any permanent damage," she replies, lifting a wet hand to cup his jaw. "Nothing you won't be able to erase." She strokes his cheek with her thumb. "Nothing _we_ won't be able to erase," she amends.

He leans in and kisses her, not caring one bit about getting wet. "You are so strong," he murmurs. "Stronger than I am, in some ways."

"I don't know about that," she answers.

"Don't you?" he asks, guiding her to sit forward so he can wash her back. "You have been so composed, so… graceful through this whole ordeal, and all I want to do is… _punch_ something."

"That isn't weakness, Arthur. We all deal with things in different ways. And believe me, I was very upset and unsettled. I couldn't fall apart out where the people could see me; I had to hold myself together until I was safely in your arms," she says, reminding him that she did just that while in his embrace. "And if punching something will make you feel better, go right ahead and do that," she says. "Just… perhaps choose your target wisely."

He chuckles. "Well, I will admit that I already landed a few very satisfying blows to Lancelot's face, but I have no further plans to punch anyone," he says, leaning her back again. "And it's getting a bit late to go to the training grounds. Spending this time with you is helping."

"It's helping me, too," she agrees. "I like this. You taking care of me." She smiles up at him.

"I would love to wash your hair," he says, gently tugging an escaped curl. "Though I think it is a task beyond my skill level."

"It is a task beyond _my_ skill level," Guinevere says, and Arthur chuckles again. "It does not need washing today anyway."

"Very well," he says, lifting a small foot out of the water and seeing to it instead.

They fall quiet for a bit, and she closes her eyes, enjoying her husband's attentiveness.

As he grows a bit bolder with his touches, running the cloth over her stomach beneath the water, then her breasts, something she said earlier finally registers. "You… you love me?" Arthur suddenly asks.

Guinevere stiffens slightly, her eyes opening. "Yes," she quietly admits, keeping her gaze downcast, worried that he does not feel the same.

He lifts her chin, but she still avoids his eyes. "Guinevere," he says.

She feels the word low in her belly, like a warm glow spreading to her most sensitive areas, and it compels her to look up.

He kisses her lips and says, "I love you. I'm fairly certain I have for a while."

"You do?" she asks. "You have?"

He nods. "I don't know why I didn't tell you… I guess I didn't want to overwhelm you."

She smiles. "I… I _was_ waiting to hear you say it first, but… it just came out."

He returns her smile and nuzzles her nose with his. "I'm glad it did."

"I'd like to get out of the bath now," she quietly says.

"I'll summon Sefa," Arthur says, kisses her, and begins to stand.

She grabs his hand. "I didn't say anything about getting dressed, Arthur."

xXx

Arthur gently runs the towel over Guinevere's body, carefully drying every beautiful curve and plane. He wraps her in the cloth and kisses her once, then carefully pulls the pins holding her hair up. He runs his fingers through the mahogany curls, coaxing them down over her shoulders. He kisses her again, his hands wrapped in her hair.

"When did you realize you loved me?" she softly asks, reaching down for the hem of his shirt.

He gives her a slightly goofy half smile and answers, "I think it was that day at the stream." Then he helps her remove her shirt.

"That early?" she asks, sliding her hands over his chest.

"Mmm," he hums, nodding. He guides her hands to the ties of his trousers. He had already shed his boots, so he easily steps out of them when they fall to the floor. "What about you?" he asks.

"It's difficult to say," she answers. "I think… yes, the joust. When you were injured. I wanted to rush off to be with you, to make sure you were all right, but I couldn't. Morgana had to make me stay. But it was the fear of possibly losing you that made me realize that what I felt for you was, indeed, love," she says.

Arthur was guiding her to the bed while she was speaking, her towel dropping away as they went. He yanks back the covers, then guides her to the bed. "That didn't sound difficult to say," he says, feathering kisses over her cheeks and closed eyelids.

"I first suspected that I might love you when you went to yell at your father," she explains, her voice growing soft and breathy.

"Oh?" he somewhat absently murmurs. "That is earlier than our picnic," he points out, lifting his head.

"I know," she replies. "But I wasn't certain if…" she pauses, momentarily distracted by his lips on her neck, "if I truly loved you of if… mmm… if I merely _thought_ I did because I felt I was supposed to. Because I… I didn't know anything else. It's difficult to explain."

"I think I understand." He kisses her collarbone and lifts his head again. "But I had to suffer an injury for you to make your decision?" he asks, grinning at her.

"Well…" she says, "that simply helped… clarify my feelings. I wish it had been something less traumatic, but we cannot always choose how things happen."

"I know, Love," he says, resuming his earlier activities, kissing a path down her chest. "Just the thought of what could have happened to you today…"

"Shh," she soothes, stroking his hair. "It didn't," she whispers. "Thanks to you." He rests his head on her chest a moment and she adds, "Without the instruction you gave me – and my little dagger – things could have ended very badly. But they didn't, and we should be grateful for it."

Arthur wraps his arms around her and holds her close, soaking in the feel of her skin against his. He opens his eyes and finds himself looking straight at her bruised elbow. He lifts his head and gently kisses the purple blotch.

"Arthur," Guinevere whispers, "remove his touch from my memory; replace it with yours."

"With pleasure," he says, moving back up to kiss her lips. His kiss is soft and tender, showing her how much he loves her.

She returns his ardor, and they both realize that they've been wordlessly showing one another their love for some time now, and had they paid attention, they would have seen it.

He takes his time loving her, lingering over his favorite spots, lavishing attention on her favorites, and making sure she feels not only utterly loved by him but completely safe. His lips whisper words of adoration between gentle kisses; his hands wipe away any lingering remnants of the afternoon's trauma. He is careful and attentive, fully aware that she has suffered a fright and may suddenly turn him away.

But she doesn't. His brave, beautiful wife welcomes his affection, sighing with pleasure when his tongue darts between her legs, embracing him tightly when he delves into her, her fingers in his hair and his name in her mouth.

They are unhurried, smoothly moving together until the sensations grow too much and overflow. She cries out his name and he buries his face in her hair, groaning, as they reach their peak together.

They cling to one another for several minutes after, until finally he rolls them, still holding her.

"I love you so much, Guinevere," Arthur says.

"I was told to expect fondness at best from you, and only after years of marriage," Guinevere replies. "So I never dared to hope that you would truly love me… and I never expected to love you as thoroughly as I do."

He kisses her, a long, deep kiss meant to show her how wrong her tutors were. "How could I not love you?" he asks, looking into her lovely brown eyes. "There is nothing un-lovable about you, Wife."

She touches his cheek. "I thank the gods every day that Lady Nimueh and Sister Lydia were so completely wrong about you," she replies, smiling.

"I—" He is cut off by a very timid knock at the door. "Who the hell…?" he mutters. "Go away!" he yells.

"Sire, Gaius would like to examine the queen," Merlin says through the doors. He is the only person brave enough to defy the king this way, especially now. But he wouldn't do so if it wasn't important, and Arthur knows this.

"It's only a bruise. I don't think that's necessary," Guinevere says.

"I do," Arthur insists. "Please. For me," he says, kissing her.

"Very well," she assents.

"Just a minute," he calls.

Guinevere gets out of bed and pulls her nightdress on. She contemplates her dressing gown, but knows Gaius will need to see her elbow and the long, thick sleeves will only get in his way. So she climbs back into bed to better cover herself.

Arthur has pulled his trousers and shirt on and, once he's certain his wife is decently covered, opens the door.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Sire," Gaius says. "But I only just returned from seeing some patients in the lower town. Merlin told me what happened, and I wished to make certain that the queen is uninjured."

"Of course," Arthur agrees, walking with the physician to the bedside while Merlin begins cleaning up the remains of Guinevere's bath.

"I fear I did more injury to Lancelot than he did to me," Guinevere says.

Gaius' eyebrows rise. "Is that so?"

"Yes. I merely have a bruised elbow, while Lancelot has a stab wound in his thigh and likely a decent bruise on his foot as well," she explains, watching while Gaius gingerly prods the purple blotches.

"I shall check on Sir Lancel—"

"Just Lancelot," Arthur corrects, his tone clipped. "He no longer deserves his title."

Gaius nods. "I shall check on the prisoner then," he says. As a commoner, he does not feel right not addressing nobles by title, even disgraced ones. "My lady," he continues, returning his full attention to Guinevere, "he did not touch you in any _other_ way?"

"No. He tried." She goes on to tell him exactly what happened. It's also the first time Arthur hears the full recount. He hadn't asked her yet because he didn't want to make her relive it so soon. But her voice is quiet and level as she gives the details, almost as if she has already managed to detach herself from what happened.

"It sounds like you handled the situation very well, my lady," Gaius says.

"She did. I am very proud of her," Arthur agrees.

"I would not have known what to do without your tutelage," she says, smiling at him. "Arthur has been teaching me how to defend myself," she explains to Gaius.

"That is excellent," Gaius nods. "I have some balm for your elbow," he says, withdrawing a small jar from a pocket in his robes. "Do let me know immediately if anything changes. Injuries can sometimes remain hidden for a time. However, based on what you've told us, I think it highly unlikely."

"Thank you, Gaius," she says, holding her arm out to allow him to apply the medicine to it.

"Sire?" Merlin asks, walking over.

"Yes, Merlin?"

"Shall I bring up some dinner?"

"Yes, thank you. We will dine here tonight," Arthur answers, glancing at Guinevere, who nods.

"I thought as much," Merlin replies, then nods and leaves.

"Get some rest, my lady," Gaius says and stands. "Sire."

"Thank you, Gaius," Arthur replies.

xXx

"You know you really had nothing at all to worry about with Sir Gwaine," Guinevere says, curled against his side in bed later that night.

"I know," Arthur replies, kissing the top of her head. "You always had my trust. I just wasn't so sure about him."

"Arthur," she says, lifting her head up, "he's quite smitten with Morgana."

"What?" he asks. Then, "Oh…" as realization dawns.

"What is it?" she asks, confused.

"My uncle is a low, scheming cur," he growls. " _He_ was the one who planted the seed of suspicion. I tried not to let it take hold, but… I'm afraid I have quite a jealous streak where it comes to you. Every time I saw Gwaine with you, I could just hear Agravaine's voice in my head, saying, 'Keep a close eye on the attention he pays to your queen.' I should have known better. He just…"

"Morgana said he likes to stir up trouble for no other reason than his own entertainment," Guinevere says.

"Oh, he definitely had a reason this time," Arthur remarks.

"Do you mean he… tried to get Gwaine banned from the kingdom – or worse – to prevent him from courting Morgana?" she asks, her dislike for her husband's uncle growing with each minute.

"That's exactly what he did," he replies. "It would serve him right if Morgana eloped with Gwaine and the two of them ran away together."

"Why does he dislike Gwaine so?" she asks, settling back against him.

"Because he's brash and unconventional… never mind the fact that he follows the rules. He probably doesn't like Gwaine because he's a Celt, too."

"That's ridiculous and small-minded," she says.

"That's Agravaine," Arthur responds, and Guinevere snorts an indelicate laugh.

"Sir Gwaine has been asking me for advice about courting Morgana," she says. "That's another reason why he was spending so much time with me. I was to help him choose a suitable gift for her this morning in the marketplace."

"So he's in earnest then," he comments, nodding thoughtfully.

"Quite," she answers. "You probably should have a serious discussion with your uncle."

"Oh, at the very least. I doubt very much he'll be showing his face here for a while though, considering his plan did not work."

"You could summon him. You are the king after all," she suggests.

"I am, but I also do not wish to see his ugly face any time soon," he sighs. "I will deal with him at an… opportune moment."

"You mean when Gwaine asks permission to court Morgana," she asks, lifting her head.

Arthur chuckles and kisses her, saying, "You are a perceptive woman indeed, my love."


	9. Chapter 9

" _I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate then when I fall asleep your eyes close." -Pablo Neruda,_ _100 Love Sonnets_

 _Dear Don Santiago,_

 _I bring you warm greetings of friendship from the kingdom of Camelot. However, I wish I were writing to you under happier circumstances._

 _It is my understanding that your son, Sir Lancelot of Aragon, has fled your homeland and has been missing for some time. I am writing to inform you that I am currently holding your son in my dungeon. He is being detained for making inappropriate advances on my wife, Queen Guinevere, and when she spurned his advances, he attempted to take her by force. Thankfully, he did not succeed._

 _As I am sure you are aware, this is an act of treason. My wife has asked me to spare his life – a request with which I have complied for her sake, not your son's – but I will not banish him from the kingdom because that would only allow him to continue his unsavory activities elsewhere. And as it is not my wish to indefinitely keep him as a prisoner in my dungeon, I turn to you, Don Santiago, and extend you an invitation to Camelot so that you may come and retrieve your errant son._

 _What you choose to do with him once you have him is your business alone._

 _Our gates are always open to your retinue._

 _Respectfully,  
King Arthur of Camelot_

xXx

Several weeks have passed since Arthur sent the letter to Aragon. He does not know if Don Santiago will send a message back or if someone will simply show up one day, but each day that Lancelot is allowed to languish in the dungeon is a day too long. Arthur hasn't been to see him and hears no reports on his behavior or health, but the knowledge that he is down there is enough to irk him.

Thankfully, the queen's birthday feast proves to be a festive diversion for a couple of days. Elyan made the journey, but King Thomas was down with an illness and could not attend. He sent a gift with his son: the gold circlet that Guinevere's mother often wore. Queen Eleanor had it set aside to pass to her daughter on her eighteenth birthday, and Thomas honored that wish.

Arthur gifted her two books about flowers since she seemed to enjoy reading about them, and a necklace made of silver and small amethyst stones fashioned to resemble lavender flowers.

"You pay attention," she had said, smiling at him. Lavender is one of her favorites, and apparently her husband took note.

"I may be indifferent towards flowers, but I am definitely not indifferent towards you, my love," he replied, kissing her. "I am very glad you like it."

"I love it," she answered. "And I love you."

xXx

Another week passes, marking a full month since Arthur sent his letter to Don Santiago. Agravaine and Morgana have arrived in Camelot for the first time since then as well. They of course know what happened, and Morgana immediately seeks out Guinevere.

"Gwaine told me everything," she says, finding the queen just inside. "He feels terrible about letting it happen."

Guinevere takes Morgana's arm and leads her into an empty room so they may speak privately and freely. "I know. It is not his fault. I keep telling him so. Arthur, too. They both feel responsible, but the blame lies solely with Lancelot."

"Gwaine is conflicted. He wishes he would have left Lancelot so that he would not have wound up here, but he knows that if he had, there's no telling how many lives he would have ruined." Morgana pauses. "Well, at least until some poor girl's angry father caught him," she ruefully adds.

"Gwaine seems like such a champion of justice and is rather protective of not only me, but women in general," Guinevere says, and Morgana nods her agreement. "A small part of me wonders why he didn't kill Lancelot for his acts."

"Just between you and me, I have wondered the same thing," Morgana replies. She takes Guinevere's hand. "But you're truly well? He did not harm you? Did not…" she trails off, leaving the question unasked.

"I am fine," Guinevere answers. "He did not violate me."

"Good," Morgana decisively states. "I wanted to ask you myself, woman to woman, in case you did not feel comfortable telling Arthur or Gaius."

"Thank you for your concern," Guinevere says. "And if Lancelot had, I would have told Arthur. We have no secrets."

Morgana smiles. "You love him," she realizes.

Guinevere looks down, her cheeks flushing. "And he loves me."

Her eyes widen. "He told you this?" she asks.

Guinevere nods and proceeds to tell her how it transpired. Morgana is very impressed that Guinevere said it first, even if it was accidental and Arthur didn't really hear it at the time. She exuberantly hugs her cousin.

"Morgana, may I ask you something… delicate?" Guinevere asks, biting her lower lip.

"Ooo, this sounds like it's going to be good," Morgana replies, leaning forward.

"Oh dear," Guinevere sighs. "How do I ask this? I don't want to presume anything…"

"I am a virgin," Morgana volunteers, having a pretty good idea about the nature of Guinevere's question. "But I've done a few things, and I've heard a _lot_ of things."

"Well," Guinevere starts, keeping her eyes on the ground, "Arthur has done something for me… in our marriage bed… several times. He um… uses his mouth between my legs." She whispers the last part.

"From what I understand, that feels _very_ nice," Morgana says, a little impressed.

Guinevere glances up. "Oh, it does," she says, biting back her grin. She drops her gaze again and asks, "Is there a way I can do something like that for him?"

"Ohhh," Morgana says, drawing it out as realization dawns. "Yes, there is. I have heard the maids talking about it. And the men, for that matter, though they didn't know I was listening." She grins. "From what I've heard…"

xXx

"Uncle, a word," Arthur says, breezing past Agravaine and heading into the great hall. He knows this conversation is overdue, but also knows now is when it needs to happen, since Guinevere and Gwaine finally made their trip to the marketplace just a few days ago in anticipation of Agravaine and Morgana's arrival.

"Of course," Agravaine says, following him in. A guard shuts the doors, and Arthur's cool demeanor makes the lord slightly uneasy.

"I am placing the blame for Lancelot's attack on Guinevere on your head," Arthur says.

"Me?" Agravaine asks, his eyes widening. "I am blameless."

"It was you who planted the seeds of suspicion in my head. You heard the rumors about Lancelot, but you told me they were about Sir Gwaine," Arthur says. He's been spending some of his time doing a little research of his own.

"I assure you—"

"You tried to sully Gwaine's reputation because you do not like the fact that he and Morgana are fond of one another," Arthur says. "He is of noble birth and has been a knight above reproach in every way. If he wishes to court her, he has every right."

"He is a scoundrel and a cad," Agravaine spits, refusing to acknowledge his wrongdoing.

"He risked his own reputation, even his life, trying to _protect_ Guinevere from Lancelot. I trust him not only with my life, but the queen's." Arthur retorts, his voice rising.

"His reputation states otherwise," Agravaine insists.

"Oh? Then why is it when I wrote to Lord Padraig of Armagh, he gave a glowing recommendation of his son and provided other references that will vouch for Sir Gwaine's character as well?"

"Like whom?" Agravaine demands.

"Caerleon. Turns out he wound up spending some time there because he saved King Caerleon and Queen Annis' granddaughter from a wild boar. They reported that he was nothing but charming and respectful, and wished he had chosen to stay on and join _their_ ranks." Agravaine glowers, and Arthur continues. "Even King Olaf, who doesn't like anyone, could not find anything worse to say than, 'That man is insane.' Sir Gwaine is the type of man who gives respect to those _deserving_ of that consideration, not simply because a person has a title." He pauses, simply for effect, and adds, "Besides, I thought you wanted Morgana to marry."

"Yes, but…"

"Gwaine is a good man. One of the best I've met, and I am proud to have him among my ranks. I suggest you revise your thinking before your small-minded prejudices cause you to lose your only child."

"Yes, Sire," Agravaine replies, not sounding terribly pleased about it.

"I am not speaking as your king," Arthur clarifies. "I am speaking as a man who loves his cousin and wishes to see her happy."

Agravaine nods, thinking they are done. "I understand, Arthur. Thank you." He lightly bows and starts to turn.

"I haven't finished," Arthur says, his voice turning hard again. Agravaine stops. "There is still the matter of your punishment."

"P-punishment?" Agravaine sputters, turning white, then red, then white again.

"Surely you do not think that slander and conspiring to assault the queen are not punishable offenses?" Arthur asks, angling his head.

"N-no, my lord," Agravaine answers. "I just thought—"

"You thought because you were my kin I would turn a blind eye," Arthur finishes. "I'm afraid I cannot do that."

"But—"

Arthur begins to slowly pace. "I am a young king, you see, and there are many eyes on me. If I let you off for this fairly major offense, uncle or no, people will think they can simply walk all over me, and by extension, the kingdom. Camelot will appear weak and ripe for the plucking." He stops and stares hard at his uncle. "Not only that, but I love my wife _very_ much, and the fact that you would stoop to such levels, that you would risk the life of not only your queen, but _my wife_ because of your own selfish pettiness, hurts me deeply. It also makes me _unreasonably angry_!" His voice has risen to a shout by the end of his speech and Agravaine takes a step back.

"Forgive me, Sire. Arthur," Agravaine quietly says. "I… did not consider all the consequences of my actions."

"Clearly not," Arthur replies, his tone soft but clipped. "Now. It is well within my rights to imprison or banish you. My father has executed men for less, come to think of it." Agravaine's eyes widen, and Arthur continues. "But imprisonment won't have the desired effect, and banishment is too… easy."

"Easy?" Agravaine croaks.

Arthur rocks back on his heels, his hands behind his back. "You are barred from attending Council meetings. For one month." He knows this punishment is a harsh blow to his uncle's pride, which is why he settled on it.

"But—"

"Two months."

Agravaine closes his mouth and nods.

Arthur steps closer and says, "Your punishment is light for _Morgana's_ sake, not yours."

Agravaine swallows hard, his pasty skin now pale and shiny due to the light sheen of sweat now covering it.

"However, I will caution you to mind both your words and your actions, as my patience with you grows increasingly thin," Arthur sharply warns.

"Yes, Sire," Agravaine repeats, looking like he has just swallowed a toad. Arthur brushes past him and out of the hall.

xXx

Gwaine seeks out Agravaine less than an hour later. Arthur's words still fresh in his mind, the lord consents to allowing the knight to court his daughter, albeit a bit grudgingly. He even tells Gwaine he does not like him. To his credit, Gwaine merely huffed a short laugh and said, "I don't like you either, mate, but it ain't you I'm lookin' to marry."

When Morgana came rushing to find Arthur and Guinevere to show them the necklace Gwaine gifted her as an official token of their courtship, Arthur happily declared that they would have a festive dinner tonight to celebrate, and immediately dispatched Merlin to the kitchens.

They didn't tell Morgana that they already knew Gwaine's intentions and had started preparations for this dinner the day before.

"I am so happy for you," Guinevere says to Morgana, hugging her. "I have gotten to know Sir Gwaine quite well and can say that not only is he an excellent knight, but he is also a good man."

"Oh, I know," Morgana replies, grinning.

"Standing right here," Gwaine comments, chuckling. "You're going to give me a big head."

"He doesn't need any help in that department," Arthur remarks. Gwaine laughs, and Arthur clasps arms with him and congratulates him. "Hurt her and I'll break your neck," he says, a smile pasted on his face.

"Wouldn't dream of it, mate," Gwaine replies. He knows the king is quite serious, but his reply is just as sincere.

They chat for a few minutes, Morgana confessing that she would like to stay in Camelot after she and Gwaine wed ("I need a break from Father," she groaned). Then Merlin comes bursting back into the royal chambers, breathing hard.

"My lord… Don Santiago…" he huffs.

"He's here?" Arthur's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Now?"

"His party has been spotted just outside the town," Merlin says, his breathing gradually slowing to normal. "Sir Bedivere spotted the red and gold striped banners."

"That's them," Gwaine confirms.

"How many?" Arthur asks.

"Six. Looked like he brought his wife and maybe a son. And three knights," Merlin answers.

"We have enough food for three more for dinner?" Arthur asks.

"I think so," Merlin replies.

"Make it happen," Arthur commands.

"My lord," Merlin nods and disappears.

Arthur looks over at Guinevere. Sefa is already helping her into her cloak. "We must greet them," she says.

"Morgana, Gwaine, if you will excuse us," Arthur says, holding his hand out for his wife.

xXx

The party from Aragon enters the courtyard on fine Spanish horses, looking resplendent and proud in their kingdom's colors of red and gold.

Don Santiago is straight-backed and handsome, his dark hair flecked with distinguished touches of gray. He has a neatly-trimmed beard and dark, piercing eyes. Lancelot has the same eyes. His wife is petite and beautiful, with shiny black hair and tan skin that is only touched by a few wrinkles. The third person is a very handsome young man who appears to be a younger version of Don Santiago, so Arthur and Guinevere decide that he most definitely must be one of their sons.

"Probably his eldest," Arthur quietly observes as they step forward.

"She is beautiful," Guinevere comments, noting the doña's long, dark lashes and high cheekbones.

"Don Santiago, I presume," Arthur greets once they are close enough. "Welcome to Camelot."

Don Santiago nods and dismounts. "Thank you. I apologize for our unannounced arrival," he says, his voice bearing only a very slight accent. "There was no time to send a messenger."

"Completely understandable," Arthur replies, extending his hand as the son assists his mother down from her mare.

Don Santiago grasps Arthur's hand in greeting. "My wife, Doña Estela, and my son, Santiago II," he introduces.

The doña curtseys and Arthur kisses her hand. "I am honored to meet you, my lady," he says. She gives him a charming smile, then he shakes the younger Santiago's hand. "Sir," he greets.

"My lord," he replies. "Please, call me Tiago. It helps avoid confusion."

Arthur nods, smiling. "Allow me to present my wife, Queen Guinevere," Arthur introduces, placing his hand on the small of her back as she steps forward.

"I am very pleased to meet you," Guinevere says.

Santiago steps forward and holds out his hand. Guinevere places hers in it, and he kneels before her, gently kissing her hand. "Please accept my humble apologies for my son's inexcusable behavior," he says. "We are extremely embarrassed by his actions and beg your forgiveness."

"Thank you, Don Santiago," a shocked but composed Guinevere answers. "I accept your apology. Please rise."

He kisses her hand once more, then stands. "Estela," he says.

Doña Estela curtseys to Guinevere, and the queen holds out her hand. Estela places her hand in it and Guinevere clasps it warmly between both of hers. She hasn't heard the doña speak yet, so isn't certain if she can understand her, but she says, "Welcome to Camelot, Doña Estela."

Estela quietly replies, "Thank you, my lady. Please accept my apology as well for my son's terrible actions." Her accent is much stronger than Santiago's, but they can easily understand her.

"Of course," Guinevere answers, releasing her hand. "I hope you will find your stay here to your liking, despite the circumstances."

"Your kingdom is beautiful, my lady. The marketplace was quite charming. I hope to visit it before we depart," Estela answers with a smile, finding the queen to be a lovely and polished young woman.

Guinevere returns her smile. "Visiting the marketplace is one of my favorite activities," she says.

Estela's smile broadens, then she steps back to allow her son to step forward. " _Mi reina_ ," he says, bowing over Guinevere's hand and kissing it. She tries not to stiffen at the words. The last person to address her as such was Lancelot. "I am…" he pauses, clearly trying to find the right word, "mortified by my brother's actions and wish you to know that he is not… representative of our family."

"I understand," Guinevere replies, thinking of how different Morgana is from Agravaine. And Arthur from Uther. "Thank you, Tiago."

"You have arrived at a fortunate time," Arthur says, escorting them inside while servants follow with their belongings. He waves Sir Leon over to attend their knights. "We will be having a small celebratory dinner this evening. One of my knights has obtained permission from my uncle, Lord Agravaine, to court his daughter, Lady Morgana. We would love for you to join us."

"We cannot impose, especially after arriving unannounced," Santiago says.

"I assure you it is neither an imposition nor inconvenience," Arthur replies. Merlin appears out of nowhere and nods at Arthur. The king returns the gesture and they make their way to the guest rooms that have been hurriedly prepared. Merlin is actually guiding the way since he knows which rooms have been readied, but he does so in a way that makes it look like Arthur is in the lead.

"In that case, we will be honored to join you, but we must insist on contributing," Santiago says, watching the servants as they pass into the room, looking for a particular bag. "Ah." He holds his hand out and a servant passes him the bag. He withdraws some large bottles, three in all. "Wine from our lands," he says. "We brought them as a gift to you."

"Thank you very much," Arthur says, lifting one. "I look forward to sampling it. Merlin."

"Yes, my lord," Merlin replies, lifting two of the bottles. Another servant takes the third and follows him out.

"Your servant is very efficient," Tiago observes, stepping in from his room across the corridor. "You do not even need to give him an order, and he follows it."

"He has been in my service since we were both boys," Arthur explains. "He often knows my needs before I do," he chuckles.

"A fine quality to have in a servant as well as a wife," Santiago replies, nodding at Guinevere. "But surely you have not been married long? You are both very young."

"Less than a year," Arthur says. "I will be 19 after the new year, and my Guinevere has just turned 18."

" _Felicidades_ ," Santiago says to Guinevere with a charming smile. "And you seem to have a very stable head on your shoulders for such a young king. We heard about King Uther's untimely passing," he adds, tuning back towards Arthur. "I did not know him or know much about him as a ruler, but his name was respected."

"My only hope as king is to improve upon the things my father did in his rule," Arthur tactfully replies.

Santiago briefly raises an eyebrow, clearly shrewd enough to be able to read between the lines in more than one language. "Indeed," he merely replies.

"I am sure your journey was long and you likely wish to freshen up before dinner," Guinevere says, steering the subject away from Uther.

Estela glances at Santiago, and he nods. "My lady?" Estela says, stepping forward. She has something in her hands.

"Yes, Doña Estela?" Guinevere replies.

"We have brought a gift for you as well," she says. "As a…" she struggles with the words for a moment, "symbol? A token. A token of apology from our house to your kingdom." She holds out a box that is about the same size as her hand.

"Thank you very much," Guinevere accepts the gift. She feels it is somewhat unnecessary, but understands their wish to make amends and will not insult them by refusing their thoughtful gift. She opens the box and sees a simple gold cuff bracelet etched with flowers. "It is beautiful," she says, lifting it from the box.

"The _campanula_ – bellflower – is the symbol of our house," Estela explains.

Guinevere smiles and slips it over her hand and onto her wrist. "It is lovely. I shall treasure it. Thank you very much."

"Guinevere is quite fond of flowers, and is rather knowledgable about them as well," Arthur comments.

"Ah, then our gift is well-suited indeed," Santiago says, clearly pleased.

"It is," Guinevere agrees. She holds her hands out to Estela and the older woman takes them. "Thank you for the thoughtful gift," she says, giving her hands a gentle squeeze.

"It will not erase the dishonor our son has done, but I am very happy you like it," Estela replies.

"I love it," Guinevere says, releasing her hands. "But now we will leave you to rest a bit before dinner," she says. "These servants will attend you, and please do not hesitate to ask for anything you need."

"Thank you," Santiago answers. "I am sure you have matters to which to see as well. Thank you for your hospitality."

"It is our pleasure. Merlin will return and show you to the hall in time for dinner," Arthur replies. They turn to leave, but then he stops, remembering the actual reason for their visit. "Oh, forgive me. Would you like to see Lancelot before dinner?"

Santiago's expression darkens. "He can wait until morning. I will lose my appetite if I see him before what will be a delicious dinner, judging by the appetizing aromas in the air."

"Very well," Arthur responds with a nod before taking Guinevere's hand and exiting.

"Do you think everyone in their country is that beautiful, or is their family just blessed?" Guinevere asks once they are far enough away.

Arthur laughs, then stops walking to hug her. He kisses her forehead, then says, "I love you. Come. We should stop in the kitchens to make certain everything is in order."

"I'm sure Merlin has made all the proper arrangements," Guinevere says.

Arthur stops again. "You're right. Let's go up to our room and have a little rest of our own, shall we?"

xXx

"Forgive my impertinence, Lady Morgana, but how is it you are yet unmarried?" Tiago asks over dinner. "You are very beautiful and most charming. How is Sir Gwaine the first to be lucky enough to win your hand?"

Agravaine sighs. "She has proven—"

"I have simply refused to marry any man unless _I_ approve of him," Morgana states, talking over her father. Still nursing his wounded pride, Agravaine says nothing.

"Is that customary?" Tiago presses.

"Tiago, do not be rude," Santiago admonishes.

"No, no. It's quite all right," Morgana insists. "I love your straightforward manner. It's so refreshing," she says, giving Tiago a winning smile.

"The Lady Morgana is quite deadly with a sword, you see," Arthur volunteers. "Half the noble men in the five kingdoms are afraid of her," he adds with a grin.

No one laughs until Morgana does, and even then, the first to join in is Gwaine. "I do love a woman with spirit," he says.

"Perhaps some friendly sparring should be in order then," Arthur suggests, mainly to irk his uncle, who has regretted letting his daughter train from the moment he finally consented to it.

"Oh, there would be nothing friendly about it, I assure you," Morgana says, lifting her goblet to her smiling lips.

"Mmm, I definitely like the sound of that," Gwaine agrees. Agravaine chokes on his wine.

"Arthur," Santiago chimes in, redirecting the conversation, "your marriage to Queen Guinevere was arranged, yes?"

"Yes," Arthur says. He goes on to explain how it was brokered by their fathers when they were little more than babies.

"Ah, so you have been friends your whole lives," Estela observes. "That must be why you are so in love now."

Guinevere blushes slightly, and Arthur says, "Um, actually, after the agreement was made, my father apparently did not see the need for me to get to know my future wife, so we did not meet or even see each other until we were married. _After_ , technically. The tradition here is for the bride to be veiled with heavy lace until it is time to seal the union with a kiss. I couldn't see her, and she couldn't really see me either."

"I could not see you at all," Guinevere says. "Just your silhouette."

"Really?" Arthur asks, and she nods. "Yeah, we need to do away with that tradition." Guinevere nods again, and Santiago and Estela chuckle.

"You are most fortunate that the match is a good one then," Estela assesses. "We were given time to meet and get to know one another first. To make sure we would be well suited."

"And if not?" Arthur asks.

"No arrangement would be made and our parents would try again," Santiago answers. "We are in the process of trying to match our second son, Pascual."

"I am already married," Tiago volunteers. "My wife, Melisenda, is expecting our first child, and is unable to travel. She is well and there are several months before the baby will arrive, but… she does not get along with ships."

"Ah, I see," Arthur nods, understanding. "That would not be an enjoyable journey for her then."

"Indeed not," Tiago agrees.

As the evening wears on, talk inevitably begins to turn towards Lancelot. Agravaine, perhaps in a last, desperate effort to cast aspersions on his future son-in-law's name, declares that Gwaine spent several weeks in Lancelot's company and was fully aware of his activities.

"Oh?" Santiago asks, looking towards the knight.

"Aye," Gwaine agrees, fully prepared for this topic, as he had a suspicion it would come up at some point. "I did not approve of his… proclivities, but I stayed in his company to make it very difficult for him to act on them."

"I am sorry you had to play nursemaid to our son," Santiago replies. "But thank you for at least trying."

Gwaine nods. "It was my choice to do so. I cannot abide a man forcing himself on a woman. I joined his company because he saved my life, but when I saved _his_ life… from men who I later learned were sent by you – sorry about that, mate – we were square. It was then that I made him tell me why they were after him."

"And he told you?" Estela quietly asks. Clearly she is deeply upset by her son's disgrace.

"I had to threaten him," Gwaine answers with a sigh. "He grudgingly told me." He can still remember looming over Lancelot, his knee pressed into his chest, sword to his throat. Sometimes he regrets not having slit it as soon as he learned the truth.

"And he did not… menace any other women here in Camelot?" Tiago asks.

"No," Gwaine answers. "He was particular, see? He didn't attack just any defenseless woman," he explains. "He is calculating and careful. A hunter. Nay, a predator. He chooses his prey and will not rest until he has her."

"Why did you not deal with him yourself if you were so disgusted by his acts?" Tiago asks. "You could have killed him at any time, I would imagine."

Gwaine purses his lips, trying to decide how to explain. "It was not my justice to dispense. It is important for his punishment to come from people who were directly affected. If he had assaulted my niece, that would be a different story. I don't know if my lack of action was right, wrong, or otherwise, but those are the values with which I have been instilled for as long as I can remember. And since I did not feel it was my place to kill him, I figured the least I could do is stick to him like a limpet on a rock and make it very difficult for him to do any further wrong."

"I can respect that, and I am certain young Susana's family will as well," Santiago replies. "I thank you for your vigilance, Sir Knight," he adds, raising his goblet in salute.

"I normally would answer, 'It was my pleasure,' but it really wasn't, if I am being honest," Gwaine replies, lifting his goblet in kind. "I will admit it is a relief to be free of him. It gives me the freedom to court my lady and give her the consideration and attention she truly deserves," he adds, winking at Morgana.

"So that's why you waited until now to ask," Arthur realizes. Guinevere had told him that Morgana and Gwaine had been smitten with one another since the joust, and she had been wondering why he had not yet made any moves to officially court her.

"Aye," Gwaine answers.

xXx

The next morning, Lancelot's family follows Arthur down to the dungeons to see their son. They plan on staying one more day and will be leaving the next morning.

Guinevere remained in the royal chambers. She does not wish to see him, and Arthur wholeheartedly agreed, saying, "I do not wish for him to see you. He does not deserve to look upon your beautiful face ever again."

As Gwaine accompanied the party to the dungeon, Morgana kept Guinevere company.

Understandably, Doña Estela is the most anxious of the group. Her emotions are in turmoil, and while she knows and understands the fate that awaits Lancelot when they return home, he is still her son.

"Lancelot." Don Santiago's voice is stern, but low. Lancelot, who had been lying on a pallet on the floor, jumps at the sound of his father's voice.

" _Papá_!" Lancelot exclaims, clamoring clumsily to his feet.

Arthur, hanging in the background, notices the knight is resting most of his weight on one foot and finds himself biting back a smile when he remembers Guinevere saying she stomped on one of his feet with all her might.

Santiago begins talking rapidly in Spanish. Arthur cannot understand any of it, but he doesn't need to. If Arthur didn't already know that the don is extremely angry with his son, his tone of voice and body language conveyed it quite clearly.

Arthur can tell Gwaine can understand a fair amount of what is being said by his facial expressions and quiet exclamations of "Oh, bugger!" and "Aye, mate."

When Doña Estela steps up, Lancelot clearly expects sympathy, and holds out a hand. " _Mamá_ …" he starts.

Estela does not take the offered hand, and, crying, says a few words in a soft, hoarse voice that makes Lancelot hang his head.

"She told him she is very disappointed in him and is ashamed to call him 'son'. She said his grandmother is weeping for him in heaven," Gwaine whispers. "And Santiago called him a disgrace and basically disowned him."

"Sounds about right," Arthur softly replies.

"Well, he doesn't have much time left alive anyway. But he will buried without honor and away from the rest of his family. If he is buried at all," Gwaine explains while Santiago starts talking again.

Suddenly, Don Santiago turns around. "We will return with our guards to retrieve him tomorrow morning," he tells Arthur.

"Of course," Arthur replies. He knows Lancelot is looking at him, but he ignores him. He doesn't want to hear any apologies or anything else he might have to say. "This way," he says, holding out his hand.

"I'm going to take a minute," Gwaine says, and Arthur nods.

Gwaine walks up to the bars of the cell and coldly looks at Lancelot.

"I'm sor—"

"Don't." Gwaine cuts him off. "You made me a promise and you broke it. It's one thing for you to disgrace yourself, but don't drag me into your depravity. You could have cost me everything here. You may not care about honor, but _I_ do." Lancelot has the decency to look down. "And it's not me who needs your apology," Gwaine adds, his blood beginning to boil. "But you'll never get that opportunity because you'll never see her again. You don't deserve her forgiveness. I hope your final days are spent living in regret for what you attempted to do to the sweetest, kindest, purest, most gentle person who walks this earth. Not to mention what you did to I don't even know how many others." He turns to leave.

"Gwaine," Lancelot calls.

" _Lobhadh i ifreann_ ," Gwaine tosses over his shoulder, not breaking his stride. _Rot in hell._ He heads to the training fields to work off his anger before seeing anyone else.

xXx

The party from Aragon understandably keeps to themselves until lunch, which is a quiet affair. Guinevere invites Doña Estela on a trip to the marketplace after their meal, and she accepts, happy to have a diversion.

"How many children do you have?" Guinevere asks as they walk.

"Six," Estela answers. "Tiago is the oldest, at 25." She pauses thoughtfully and asks, "You are not yet with child, my lady?"

"No," Guinevere answers. "It has already become gossip, and is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore."

"The more you worry about it, the more difficult it will become for his seed to take hold," Estela counsels. "Santi and I were married five years before it happened, and then we couldn't stop," she says, giggling like a much younger woman.

Guinevere can't help joining her. "How old were you when you were married, if I may ask?"

"I was just 16," Estela answers.

"You look ten years younger than your age," Guinevere blurts. "Oh! Forgive me," she quickly apologizes, but Estela laughs.

"My lady, do you not know the secret?" Estela asks. "You have it as well and you do not know?"

"Secret?" Guinevere asks.

They start walking again. " _Mi abuela_ – my grandmother – was a Moor," Estela explains. "That is why I am darker than Santi. My sisters and I used to lament over being darker than the other young Ladies. _Abuela_ told us, 'Ah, but when these fair-skinned _princesas_ are grown, they will look old, while you will still have smooth foreheads and plump cheeks.'" She looks at Guinevere and adds, "Surely your mother still looks young and beautiful."

Guinevere presses her lips together and says, "My mother died when I was four years old, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I am sorry," Estela says, embarrassed.

"You could not have known," Guinevere responds. "I only have vague memories of her, but I do remember her being very beautiful. She was dark like my brother. I favor Father's lighter coloring. Funny how that happened; I would have thought Elyan and I would have turned out somewhere in between them," she muses, almost to herself.

"Tiago is almost a copy of Santi, yet Pascual is almost darker than I am," Estela says with a shrug. "And Lancelot has Santi's eyes but my nose and mouth." She looks at Guinevere. "I would be very interested to see how your children turn out. They will undoubtedly be beautiful, but will they be dark or light? Will you have a child with your skin and his hair? Only _El Señor_ knows."

Guinevere smiles and leads her to the stall of one of her favorite vendors to show her the fine silks and fabrics.

Estela purchases a length of dark purple silk and a handful of colorful ribbons, and then they move on to the herbs.

They shop, not discussing anything of importance for a time. Estela makes several purchases, all carried by one of her knights that has been accompanying them, along with Sir Bors. The two knights have been trying to talk, but Sir Francisco does not speak English and Bors does not speak Spanish, so there is a lot of pointing and gesturing.

As they walk back, Guinevere asks, "You have a lovely name, Doña Estela. What does it mean?"

"Thank you. It means 'star'. Santi says it is an appropriate name, since I am small and bright," she explains.

"That is very sweet," Guinevere replies. The fact that they have been together for thirty years and still seem to be very much in love makes her own heart swell with hope for her future with Arthur.

"What does your name mean, _Reina_?" Estela asks.

"I believe it means 'fair and smooth'," Guinevere answers, frowning lightly. "I like my name, but I've always found the meaning to be a bit strange." She pauses a moment and says, "And please, call me Guinevere. I do not believe we need to stand on formalities now. We are friends, yes?"

Estela smiles. " _Sí._ Guinevere," she says, trying it out. With her accent, it sounds a bit more like "Wenibeer", and she looks a little embarrassed. "My accent does not like your beautiful name."

"My brother calls me 'Gwen', if that would be easier for you," Guinevere suggests. "And you speak English very well."

"Thank you… Gwen. I am not always comfortable speaking English because I do not pronounce as well as Santi or my children. But I did not learn until I was much older," she explains. "My father did not think it necessary to educate my sisters and me beyond learning our letters and numbers." She lowers her voice and says, "I think he was unhappy that our mother gave him no sons and that was his way of punishing us for being girls."

Guinevere doesn't quite know how to respond to that, so she simply says, "So Don Santiago taught you how to speak English?"

"He started to. But he was unable to devote the time he wanted to spend on it, so he hired a tutor for me. I learned English, French, and many other things that my father never saw fit to have me learn. It was wonderful," Estela answers.

"That's amazing," Guinevere says. "And never feel embarrassed about your accent. You can speak _three_ languages, and most people – including myself – can only speak one. And most not very well at that," she adds, grinning.

They return to the castle grounds to find Tiago sparring with Gwaine and the other knights cheering them on. Bors and Francisco try to hide their disappointment in not being able to join them, but Guinevere notices. She spies Merlin and waves him over.

"Yes, my lady?" Merlin asks, hardly out of breath from running.

"Merlin, would you take our purchases so these knights may join their companions? They look like they are about to jump out of their skin," she asks.

"Of course," Merlin answers, taking the packages.

"Go on," Guinevere instructs, and Doña Estela nods.

"Thank you, my lady," Sir Bors says.

" _Muchas gracias, mi reina_ ," Sir Francisco echoes. The two knights quickly bow and jog over to the field.

xXx

The next morning, Guinevere bids farewell to their new friends just after breakfast, then returns to the royal chambers. Arthur accompanies Don Santiago and his family to the dungeons, along with their three knights, Sir Leon, and Sir Gwaine.

Lancelot is likely weakened by having spent more than a month imprisoned, being given only humble and basic meals and no exercise, but the king (and Don Santiago) take no chances. The largest of the three knights from Aragon steps into the cell and claps irons on Lancelot's wrists and ankles. Then he is led out and flanked by the other two guards so there is one on each side and one behind. Tiago steps in front of his brother, barely glancing at him, and they all follow their parents up and out.

Lancelot blinks in the bright sunlight of the courtyard, but as soon as his eyes adjust, he lifts his face and looks up towards the windows to the royal chambers. The action is almost automatic, like a reflex, and Arthur catches it.

"You won't see her," he says, his voice low. "She has better things to do with her time than to watch a criminal being led from the kingdom."

Lancelot drops his gaze and does not reply. He is somewhat roughly led into a wagon, and the same large knight joins him, keeping guard.

"Thank you again for your hospitality," Santiago says, turning towards Arthur. "I pray when next we meet it will be under happy circumstances, _s_ _í_?"

"Yes," Arthur agrees with a nod. He shakes the don's hand.

"If you ever have occasion to travel south, _Rey Arturo,_ we would be honored to host you in our home," Doña Estela says.

"The honor would be ours, my lady," Arthur says. He kisses her hand, then asks, "May I?" holding his arms out.

Estela smiles and steps forward, accepting the warm hug from the young king. When she steps back, she pats his cheek in a motherly way and says, "I know you will take good care of Guinevere."

"Absolutely," he answers, gives her a smile, then steps over to clasp arms with Tiago.

"Once again, please accept our apolo—" Tiago starts, but Arthur holds up his hand.

"No more apologies are needed," Arthur says. "You have come and are taking him away. That is all we wanted."

"Understood," Tiago nods.

"Best wishes to you and your wife," Arthur says.

"Thank you," Tiago replies.

Arthur steps back beside Gwaine and Leon as the party mounts their horses and make ready to leave.

"Safe travels," Arthur calls.

Don Santiago gives a wave and they exit the courtyard. Once they are out of sight, all three men exhale heavily.

"That's a weight lifted," Gwaine finally remarks when they turn back towards the castle.

"Too right there," Arthur agrees. "Leon, I'd like you to run training today," he adds, looking over at his senior knight. "I need to spend some time with Guinevere right now."

"Of course, Sire," Leon nods.

"Can I spend some time with Morgana instead of going to training?" Gwaine asks with a grin.

"No," Arthur answers, then heads inside, leaving the two knights standing outside.


	10. Chapter 10

_It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages. -Friedrich Nietzsche_

Winter falls over Camelot, bringing bitter cold weather and a fair amount of snow. The castle residents hunker down for the season, and life in general slows down while the kingdom waits for fairer weather.

Arthur's birthday falls shortly after the new year. He's accustomed to having smaller celebrations due to travel being more treacherous in the cold and snow, but Elyan makes the journey, as do Agravaine and Morgana. The prince is 16 now, and while he is no taller, his muscles have begun to fill in more.

Guinevere is happy to see her brother, but cannot help missing her father. Elyan explains that King Thomas was once again a bit under the weather and did not wish to risk a journey. Guinevere can't help suspecting there is more information that her brother isn't telling her, but she doesn't press.

The king goes on a winter hunt with some of his men to commemorate his birthday, something he has done since his 15th year. They catch some small game and a deer. This year, Arthur decides that all of their catch is to be cleaned and dressed and taken to the lower town and distributed to those low on meat for the winter.

The evening feast is enjoyable and festive, with a fire-eater and a magician for entertainment. Arthur was more impressed with the fire-eater than the magician, but he appreciated the effort from Guinevere and Morgana.

"He was pretty terrible," Morgana later agreed. "Princess Elena recommended him or I would have gone with the knife-thrower."

"Well, there's always next year," Arthur replied with a chuckle.

xXx

"Did you enjoy your feast, Arthur?" Guinevere asks, walking towards him.

"Yes, thank you, Love," Arthur answers. "Where is Merlin?" he asks. Sefa had just left a short time ago after helping the queen ready for bed, but Merlin never turned up and Arthur is still fully dressed.

Guinevere bites her lower lip, growing unreasonably nervous. "I… I told him his services would not be required this evening," she tells him.

His eyebrow rises. "Did you now?" he asks, intrigued. "Is this some kind of… extra birthday gift?" She had already given him a beautiful crossbow that Leon helped her select and a new pair of soft leather gloves.

She smiles, but says nothing, walking around behind him. She slides her hands up his back and slowly peels his vest from his shoulders. Then she moves back around in front of him and unbuckles his belt.

When she slides her hands up under his shirt to begin removing it, he closes his eyes and says, "Oh, I much prefer the way you do it."

He helps her remove his shirt, and she leans forward to kiss his chest. "Good," she says. "Though I doubt you would welcome Merlin attending you this way." She leans forward and kisses his neck, sliding her arms around him.

Arthur laughs and hugs her. "Your humor always takes me by surprise," he says, tilting his head down to kiss her.

Guinevere indulges herself in a few languid kisses, then remembers her mission. The thing she's been wanting to try ever since she found out about it from Morgana, but hasn't had the courage. But his birthday seems like good enough a reason as any.

She pulls away and gently pushes him towards the bed. He makes a quiet intrigued hum, but allows her to back him up until he feels the mattress behind his legs and sits.

She kneels down before him and removes his boots, carefully setting them side by side. Then she removes his socks before lifting up and starting on the ties of his trousers.

"Lie back," she says, hoping he doesn't notice her nervous hands.

"All right," he replies, his curiosity piqued. He helpfully lifts his hips so she can remove his trousers, and she smiles when she notices he is already slightly aroused.

She removes her robe and crawls onto the bed, leaning over him.

"You're still dressed," he comments just before she kisses him. He attempts to roll them so he is on top, but she pushes his shoulder back down. He looks at her, surprised.

"Just lie back, and let me do what I will," she says, a tiny, impish smile playing about her lips.

His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline, but he complies, trying not to grin too much. When her fingers brush lightly over his semi-hard manhood, he groans.

She kisses him again, and he somehow manages to slip a hand under the hem of her nightdress and slide it up her leg. When his hand closes over her backside, she pulls away and quickly yanks her gown off.

"Better," he says, eyes roving over her familiar, but very enticing, form. He prays he will never grow tired of seeing her or being with her this way.

She smiles and leans down, kissing his chest. She works her way lower, to his stomach, then his hipbone. She contemplates his length for a moment, sliding her palm over it, now fully erect. Then she lifts it a little and slides it into her mouth.

"Guinevere," he groans her name, and the sound of it makes her flood with heat. She experimentally licks and sucks, gradually figuring out what to do while her husband groans and pants, his hand groping for her.

She plunges her mouth over him again and takes him in as far as she can. She swirls her tongue around and pumps him in and out a few times, wrapping her hand around what she can't reach with her mouth.

As she goes, she understands what Arthur meant when he said that he gets pleasure from pleasuring her. His reactions to what she is doing to him are making her feel all warm and tingly, like she can feel every nerve ending in her most sensitive places.

"Oh… Love… if you don't stop, I'm going to…" he gasps.

Morgana didn't have any information about how such an act ends, and Guinevere was a bit squeamish about the thought of swallowing what comes out. Grateful he warned her, she eases away and places another kiss on his stomach. She bites her lower lip and moves up to face him, a little worried he might think less of her.

"Guinevere that was…" he says, his expression of blissful awe setting her nerves at ease. He kisses her deeply.

"I am pleased you enjoyed it," she quietly replies. After a second, she admits, "I had no idea what I was doing."

"I have no complaints," he says, pulling her over him. "None at all."

She sits back, straddling him. "Good," she declares. "I was a little nervous about doing it," she admits.

He smiles, running his hands up her thighs to her hips. "I… rather liked you being a little bolder than usual," he admits.

She moves her hips, sliding over his length, and his fingers lightly dig into the soft flesh of her hips in response. "Shall I continue?" she asks, sounding braver than she feels. It's a little exhilarating being in control, but it's very new for her and she's not sure she would want to do it every time.

"By all means," he answers, lifting his hips slightly to encourage her.

xXx

"Where did you hear about… that?" Arthur asks after, curled around Guinevere in their bed. She has put her nightgown back on because of the cold, but he has only donned trousers.

"Morgana told me," she answers. "But only because I asked if _she_ knew anything about it. And she hasn't done it; she had only heard talk," she quickly adds.

He chuckles. "I know my cousin is virtuous," he reassures her. "And I _also_ know she listens to more chatter and gossip than she should, so I am not surprised to learn it was she who told you."

Guinevere tucks her head under his chin. "I wanted to know if there was something I could do for you that is like when you… you know…" She still isn't quite sure what to call what he does.

"Ohhhh, I see," Arthur replies. "You could have asked me," he gently points out.

"I wanted to surprise you," she says. "And I was a little nervous about trying it," she admits a moment later.

He gently lifts her chin so he can see her. "You need never feel nervous with me, Love," he says, softly kissing her lips. "And I recognize it's easier for me to say that than it is for you to do," he adds.

She nods. "I know," she whispers. "Were you surprised?" she asks, peeking at him.

"Quite pleasantly," he answers, grinning.

She is quiet for a few minutes, pondering asking the question that is on her mind. "Has anyone ever done that for you before?" she finally asks.

"I was wondering if you were going to ask that," he answers, kissing the top of her head. "And, um, yes."

She looks up. "I thought you said you didn't have a lot of experience," she says, her brows furrowing.

"I don't," he answers. He goes on to tell her about the decadent, half-drunk afternoon he spent with Princess Elena when he was 16.

"Princess Elena is very beautiful," Guinevere says. "Vivacious, funny, kind…"

"Guinevere, are you… jealous?" Arthur asks, noting her tone. He shifts slightly so they are lying facing one another. "Because I assure you, there is absolutely no need. We were simply both curious and decided we should do a little experimenting."

"I am… only envious that you experienced these things with _her_ first," she answers. "Though I completely understand your desire to do so."

"We never had any illusions about anything developing from the experience. I was promised to you, and Godwin had just arranged her marriage to one of Caerleon's sons, which is actually why she was so keen on the idea."

"Wanted to know something of what she would be experiencing," Guinevere quietly says, nodding.

"Yes. And honestly, the whole thing was a bit awkward because we never felt anything beyond friendship for one another," he explains. "Why do you think we needed the wine?" he adds, smiling.

She giggles and looks down. "I… I almost wish I had a friend with whom I could have done something similar, but I was rather sheltered," she admits.

"Thanks to my father, no doubt," he says in a low voice.

"I think _my_ father had quite a hand in keeping me cloistered as well," she sighs. "He was pretty protective of me, especially after Mum died."

Arthur nods. "I think I actually understand," he says.

"What?" Guinevere asks, not understanding his meaning.

"Oh! I mean I understand your jealousy of Elena. Or, rather my experience with her before you," he clarifies.

"Oh," she replies, relaxing again.

He pulls her into his arms, tucking the blankets up over them. "I freely admit that I love the fact that you have known no one but me," he says. "I've discovered I have a possessive streak where it comes to you, my love."

"Really," she answers, not sounding surprised at all. She closes her eyes and fully relaxes against him. "I never would have guessed."

He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, Guinevere."

"I love you, Arthur. Happy birthday."

xXx

The next morning, Elyan seeks out Guinevere in private after breakfast. Arthur has gone to the armory, and the young prince finds his sister in the royal chambers.

"Gwen… I have something I need to tell you," he says.

"Yes?" Guinevere asks, suddenly worried. "Something is wrong, isn't it?"

He nods. "Father is ill."

"I knew there was something you weren't telling me," she says.  
He nods, looking down. "I'm sorry. He… he's often confined to his bed these days. I have been acting as regent rather a lot," he says.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Guinevere asks, concerned, but a little annoyed with her brother.

"We only just got confirmation a few days ago, and since I was going to be coming, I thought I would just tell you in person. I waited until now to tell you because I didn't want to ruin the celebration," Elyan explains. "He had the ague on and off all since your birthday, but we didn't think too much of it until last week, when he started coughing and…" he hesitates, looking like he doesn't want to explain further.

"What?" she presses. "Oh gods, he was coughing up blood, wasn't he?" she asks. He nods, and her hands come up to cover her mouth. "I would like to see him," she says. "Perhaps Arthur and I could accompany you ho—"

"No, Gwen," Elyan insists, taking her hand. "He… he gave explicit instructions. He doesn't want you to catch anything. _I_ barely see him, and even then he makes me keep quite a distance. We communicate mostly by notes," Elyan explains. He pulls a bit of folded parchment from inside his vest. "Here. This is for you."

She takes it and holds it to her chest, wishing to read it in private. "Thank you," she says, blinking away tears. She looks at her brother, and sees that he is truly becoming a man. This new level of responsibility has been good for him, and he is no longer the impetuous youth he once was. "You will be a good king," she whispers, and he pulls her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

xXx

"Guinevere, we—what's wrong?" Arthur asks, immediately noticing his wife looking rather unhappy. She is sitting by the fire, her needlework lying untouched beside her.

"My father is dying," she answers.

"I'm so sorry," he replies, immediately coming to her side. He moves her sewing out of the way and sits next to her, taking her hand.

"Elyan didn't want to ruin your birthday celebration by telling me yesterday," she says, producing the letter from her father and holding it out to her husband.

"I'm sure he meant well," Arthur replies, taking the parchment from her.

"I know," Guinevere sighs. "I would like to go see him…"

Arthur finishes reading King Thomas' letter, then says, "I don't think that would be a good idea, Love, based on what your father says here."

"I know I can't. Elyan already forbade me anyway. _He_ barely gets to see him, and even then Papa only allows it from a distance," she explains.

"Your father is protecting you, and I am grateful for it," Arthur says, drawing her into his embrace. "He has the lung disease. It's highly contagious."

Guinevere's breath hitches and she whispers, "It is also always fatal."

"Shhh, I know," he coos into her hair, kissing her head.

"I feel so helpless," she says, leaning against him, letting him comfort her.

"As do I," he agrees, but his feeling of helplessness is more related to making his wife feel better than helping his father-in-law.

He holds her until she settles down, her breathing steady again.

"Thank you, Arthur," she says, leaning back a little.

He drops a small, soft kiss on her lips. "You're very welcome, Guinevere." He reaches up and wipes her cheek with his thumb. "Would you like some good news?"

"I would love some," she says.

He releases her and reaches into his vest, withdrawing two pieces of parchment. "From Aragon," he says, holding the first one up.

Her eyebrows rise. "Don Santiago?"

"Tiago," Arthur says.

"His wife had her baby!" Guinevere exclaims.

"Bab _ies_ ," he corrects. "She had twins."

"Oh, goodness!"

"And there's more." He reads. "'We are very excited to report the birth of our children, Arturo Santiago and Ginebra Marisol. We hope you will be pleased that we have chosen to honor you by giving our children the Spanish versions of your names.'"

Guinevere gasps, overcome by the touching surprise tribute. "That's…"

Arthur grins. "Amazing, I know. I was shocked. Here I was expecting to read Santiago III, but they gave him _my_ name and used Santiago for his second name."

"We must have really made an impression on them," she says, but her voice is wistful, and he notices her hand absently straying over her own midsection. Her courses just finished a few days ago, and she had cried when they came this time.

He takes her hand, lifting it from her stomach. "Our turn will come when the time is right, my love," he softly says, kissing her hand. "The gods will bless us when they see fit."

She nods. "Doña Estela told me that the more I worry about it, the harder it will be for a child to take hold. But it is getting difficult to stay patient."

"I know, Love," he says, wrapping his arms around her again. "We just have to keep practicing," he adds, smiling impishly at her. She giggles, and his smile broadens. "There, that's better." He kisses her forehead, letting his lips rest against her smooth skin for a few seconds.

"Was there any other news?" she asks, reaching for the parchment.

He tucks it away before she can take it, and she gives him a questioning look. "Well, um, yes," he says.

"About Lancelot," she guesses, and he nods. "Please tell me."

"He was hanged for his crimes a week after they returned home," Arthur says. "Tiago thinks his brother's only regret was getting caught."

Guinevere nods, but says nothing. "What is the other parchment?" she asks a moment later, remembering he had two.

"Oh, nothing important," he says, idly waving it. "Just an announcement for Gwaine and Morgana's wedding."

"Arthur!" she exclaims, grabbing it from his fingers to look at it. "It's in two weeks! Gwaine hasn't said a word about it!"

"I know, cheeky devil," Arthur replies. "Did you notice they're holding it at Ascetir?"

Guinevere nods. "They could have held it here," she says.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "And have my uncle miss an opportunity to show off? Never."

She laughs. "Right. How silly of me."

xXx

They reach Agravaine's manor as Ascetir the morning of the wedding, two weeks later. It isn't a long journey, but as the wedding feast will likely go late into the night and it is still very cold, they plan on staying over.

Agravaine greets them, looking like a proud peacock. He's put aside the fact that he's not exactly thrilled with his daughter's choice for a husband because he gets to flaunt his wealth and status. Sir Percival stands at attention a few paces behind Agravaine, keeping a watchful eye over everything.

"Welcome, Sire, my lady," the lord says, bending his waist just enough to be considered a bow.

"Thank you, Uncle," Arthur says, helping Guinevere down from her horse. "Morgana and Gwaine's chambers will be ready and waiting for them when they return to Camelot," he adds, mainly to get under his uncle's skin a little. He still hasn't completely forgiven him for the Lancelot scandal, even though his two month ban from the Council meetings is over.

Morgana, wishing some distance from her father to spread her wings a bit, insisted that they live in Camelot after the wedding. "That way Gwaine can continue his duties as a knight," she reasoned, even though Agravaine would have welcomed another guard at his manor. Lady Morgana will serve as Queen Guinevere's Lady-in-Waiting during their tenure there. When Agravaine dies, Morgana and Gwaine will return to Ascetir and take their places as Lord and Lady.

"Queen Guinevere, you are looking lovely," Agravaine says, smiling at her.

"Thank you," Guinevere replies, but does not offer her hand since her uncle-in-law still makes her rather uncomfortable. She casually loops her hand around Arthur's arm instead.

Agravaine has to greet another guest, so Arthur calls out to Percival, who smiles and steps forward. "Welcome, my lord."

"Percival, it's nice to see you dressed appropriately for a change," Arthur replies with a smile.

It is then Guinevere notices that Sir Percival is dressed in a red cloak with Camelot's gold dragon emblem instead of the blue and gold of Ascetir. "Percival is a Knight of Camelot?" she asks Arthur.

"He is. One of my finest knights, in fact," Arthur says.

The big man blushes. "I asked to be stationed here, my lady, since my family is here."

Guinevere's eyebrows lift, surprised, but she doesn't know if Percival is referring to his parents and siblings or a wife.

"Percival was born and raised here," Arthur explains as though he is reading her mind.

"And my wife and children are here as well, my lady," Percival adds.

"Oh, how many children do you have?" Guinevere asks.

"I have three boys and one more on the way," he answers.

"He's making sure the kingdom will be well-supplied with knights for years to come," Arthur says with a chuckle. "You don't need to see to it single-handedly though."

They all laugh, and Agravaine returns, wanting to personally escort the king and queen inside. "Our finest guest rooms have been made ready for you," he says.

"That wasn't entirely necessary, but thank you," Arthur replies, following his uncle inside.

"I would like to visit—" she pauses, sneezing, "—Morgana before the ceremony if at all possible."

"Of course," Agravaine says. "Surely you would like to settle in a bit first though."

"Yes, thank you," she replies. He shows them to their room, makes a vague statement about still having more guests to greet, and disappears.

"Guinevere, are you all right?" Arthur asks, turning to help her with her cloak. "You've been sneezing a lot this morning, and your voice sounds a little husky."

"I may be coming down with a cold," Guinevere answers with a sigh. "My throat feels a little scratchy."

"Merlin—"

"Yes, my lord," Merlin answers Arthur's request before he can make it, nods, and heads out to find something hot with honey in it for the queen to drink.

xXx

The wedding is nearly as lavish as Arthur and Guinevere's was. Agravaine has spared no expense, wishing to show off as much as he can. "I only have one child, so this will be my only opportunity," he had reasoned.

Guinevere's cold has progressed quickly as the day wore on. By the time the feast begins, her throat is quite sore and her nose is running at an almost embarrassing rate.

"Guinevere, go up to bed," Arthur urges, kissing her forehead. "Morgana will understand."

"I'm all right," she replies. "I would like to eat something."

"Fair enough, but _after_ you eat…"

"Yes, my lord," she answers, delicately dabbing her nose with a handkerchief.

Despite their attempts to not steal the focus from the bride and groom, Arthur and Guinevere have many visitors during the feast. Many of the guests have not met or even seen their king and queen, and they wish to take advantage. Gwaine's parents, Lord Padraig and Lady Etain, also make sure to come pay their respects.

"Our son sung such praises about you that we were a little worried that he was smitten with you instead of Morgana, my lady," Lord Padraig says to Guinevere, smiling the same devilish smile that Gwaine has.

"Your son flatters me," the queen replies, then hastily adds, "Excuse me," just before turning her face and sneezing.

" _Dia linn_ ," Padraig bids with a nod.

"Are you ill, my lady?" Lady Etain asks.

"I'm afraid I've come down with a cold today," Guinevere answers. "I'll be excusing myself soon," she adds, glancing at Arthur.

"I tried to get her to go up earlier, but she refused," Arthur explains.

"I was hungry," Guinevere interjects.

Padraig chuckles and puts his arm around his wife. "My Etain knows her own mind as well. It is a wonderful quality to have in a wife and I wouldn't have her any other way."

Arthur nods agreement. "Indeed, sir. It is nice to meet a like-minded man. And I trust your son feels the same way, else he would not have married my cousin."

Padraig laughs. "Our Gwaine does love a woman with spirit, and dear Morgana definitely has spirit. And I daresay she is as strong-willed as she is beautiful, yes?"

"Oh, most certainly," Arthur agrees. "But she has a good, kind heart, and…" he glances around the room for a moment before adding, "most definitely takes after mother."

Etain covers her mouth with her hand to hide her shocked laughter while Padraig openly guffaws. "We understand one another well, Sire," he says once he's recovered. He extends his hand, and Arthur clasps arms with him. "It has been an honor, my lord. I hope we can establish some regular of correspondence in the future."

"That is an excellent idea. And please know that you and your family are always welcome in Camelot, Lord Padraig," Arthur says. "I imagine you might wish to visit your grandchildren in the future."

"Yes," Etain immediately answers, her face lighting up. "We already have four grandchildren, but I assure you, we never tire of welcoming new ones."

"In that case, we look forward to seeing you again one day," Arthur says.

"As do we," Padraig says. They bid their goodnights, and move along.

"Guinevere," Arthur turns to his wife.

"Yes, I'm going now," she responds. He stands and pulls her chair out for her, offering his hand.

As she stands, Morgana rushes over. "I hope you are going up to bed, Gwen," she says.

"Yes, I am," Guinevere replies. "I am sorry to have to leave your feast so soon, but—"

"Do not apologize. You need your rest so you do not become more ill," Morgana says.

Gwaine walks up and wraps an arm around his wife. "Yes, get some sleep," Gwaine agrees.

"Congratulations again," Guinevere says, hugging them each in turn.

"Come," Arthur bids, taking her hand.

"You do not need to escort me, Arthur," she says, but follows him out nevertheless.

"You are not going alone," he insists. "I will return to the feast after… unless you wish for me to stay with you." He looks sideways down at her, finding he actually hopes she wants him to stay.

"You do not need to sit and watch me sleep," she says. "I will be fine."

"I will make sure there is a guard nearby," he assures her, opening the door to their rooms. He has always been concerned about her safety, but since the Lancelot incident, he is extra vigilant.

"Thank you," she answers, walking inside. Sefa and Merlin are already there, making preparations. Merlin has a fire lit in the fireplace and Sefa is ready with her mistress' nightgown.

Arthur turns to Guinevere and kisses her forehead. "Sleep well, my love," he says.

"I will try," she replies. "Do not think less of me if you return to find me snoring," she warns, then yawns, knowing she sometimes snores when her nose is stuffy.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says.

xXx

The journey home is slower due to the fact that Guinevere's cold is slightly worse. About halfway home, Arthur calls to Merlin.

"Yes, my lord?" Merlin asks, coming forward to ride alongside the king.

"Ride ahead to Camelot and have Gaius prepare a draught for the queen," Arthur instructs.

"Arthur, that isn't necessary," Guinevere protests, her voice quiet and hoarse.

"Please, Love, you need to look after your health," he insists.

"All I want is a hot bath and some rest, honestly," she says. But Arthur looks so worried and helpless that she deflates. "And whatever remedy Gaius has for me."

"Excellent. Merlin can have a bath ready and waiting for you upon our return as well," Arthur says.

"Excuse me, Sire," Sefa calls from behind them. "May I ride ahead with Merlin? I would prefer to prepare the queen's bath myself."

"I would prefer that Sefa prepare the queen's bath as well," Merlin immediately agrees.

Arthur looks at Guinevere, and when she nods, he answers, "Very well. Go on then."

Merlin nods, and then startles as Sefa gallops past him. "Hey!" he laughingly calls, then spurs his horse after her.

Guinevere's laughter turns into a coughing fit, and they stop moving for a few moments so she can recover.

"Are you all right?" he asks, handing her a skin full of water.

"Yes," she answers, but doesn't take the water. "If I drink that, you won't be able to drink any."

"It's all right," he replies. "It's not a long trip, and you need it more than I do."

She sighs and takes it, drinks, then places it in her own saddlebag. "Let's keep moving. It's cold out."

The lower town comes into view some time later, and Arthur glances over at Guinevere, about to suggest going around. He sees her sitting tall and proud in the saddle, her face serene and beautiful.

"Sometimes one has to put aside one's own discomfort and put on a brave face for one's subjects," she says with a smile. The only thing that gives her away is her voice, which is growing weaker by the hour. "The people do so love it when we pass through town; we cannot bypass them."

He reaches over and takes her gloved hand, holding it to his cheek. "Have I told you today how much I love you?" he asks.

"Twice," she answers, smiling. "And I love you just as much."

He releases her hand and they ride into the town. People appear out of nowhere and everywhere, waving to their king and queen as they pass by, undeterred by the cold weather.

"Sire! Sire!" An urgent voice catches Arthur's attention, and he looks around, searching for the source. A young man, likely about the same age as Elyan, is running forward. An older, embarrassed-looking man is jogging after him. "A word, if you please, my lord!"

"Kay!" the older man calls. "Come back here! The king doesn't have time for your nonsense!"

Intrigued, Arthur stops. "Kay, is it?" he asks.

The young man bows. "Yes, Sire," he says, hardly breathing heavy despite having just finished running.

Arthur notices the lad is healthy and strong, and glances at Guinevere. "You wished for a word?"

"Yes, Sire. Forgive me for being so impertinent, Sire, but Father would not let me request an official audience," Kay explains just as his father catches up.

The older man bows and begins apologizing, but Arthur holds up his hand, gently stopping his words.

"What is on your mind?" he asks.

"I would like… I mean, that is to say…" he starts out hesitantly, then the words come tumbling out like a rockslide, "would it be possible for me to take training with the knights?" he asks.

"Kay…" his father warns.

"I know I cannot actually _become_ a knight since I am a commoner, but I just wish… I would like to learn the skills," Kay quickly adds.

"Why?" Arthur asks, his voice kind.

"I want to be able to protect my family, my lord. The town," he immediately answers. "I practice on my own, but I want… _need_ proper instruction and there is no way for non-nobles to obtain such training. Sire."

"This is foolishness," Kay's father says. "It is not your place to make such demands, and the king and queen certainly don't wish for…"

"He has a valid point," Guinevere quietly says while the older man continues to bluster. "And this is something you have been pondering for a while."

Arthur nods. "Kay," he says, loud enough to stop the lad's father's words. "Tomorrow morning. Training grounds. Show us what you have to offer."

Kay's eyes widen. "Truly?"

Arthur nods. "I will be very disappointed if I do not see you."

"Thank you, Sire," Kay says, bowing. "Thank you, my lady," he adds, obviously having heard her words.

"Do not thank me yet," Arthur warns with a smile. "Training is hard work, and I am very demanding."

"I know, Sire. And I will still thank you," Kay insists.

"We shall see," Arthur replies, still grinning. They start moving again, then Arthur stops his horse. "Kay," he calls, looking back.

"Yes, Sire?" Kay asks.

"If you have any friends who are also interested, bring them along. I can't promise we'll accept them all, but everyone who wants should at least be given an opportunity to try," Arthur says.

"Thank you, my lord!" Kay exclaims, excited. He clearly has a few friends in mind, and immediately runs off to find them.

Kay's father is still standing there, and Arthur catches his eye. "Thank you, Sire," the older man says, now looking resigned but impressed. After a moment, he admits, "I would have liked such an opportunity myself, once upon a time."

Arthur gives the man an understanding smile and nod. "What is your name?" he asks the man.

"Ulrich, my lord," he answers.

"Be proud of your son, Ulrich," Arthur says. "And do not forget to let him know you are proud of him."

Ulrich smiles again. "Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord."

Arthur and Guinevere continue on through the town, and when they enter the courtyard, Guinevere says, "That was a wonderful thing you did."

"I have neglected this issue since I became king," he admits. "It is something I wished to put into motion, and just haven't gotten to it."

"Opportunity sometimes presents itself," she says. "Thank you," she adds when he helps her down from her horse.

"Indeed," he says, passing their horses' reins to a groom as servants begin carrying their belongings inside. He takes her hand and they quickly walk inside as well.

"Your father is probably throwing a tantrum in the afterlife," she quietly comments.

Arthur's laughter rings through the corridors, and Guinevere smiles at the sound, happy her husband is happy.


	11. Chapter 11

_"_ _Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction." -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Airman's Odyssey_

The messenger arrives on the first warm day of spring, exhausted from riding all night. Merlin receives the queen's message and bustles the young man off with a servant for a bite of food and a clean bunk in the servant's quarters to rest.

Merlin hurries up to the royal chambers, debating with himself the entire way about whether or not he should knock if the door is not unlocked.

He has an inkling about what the message from Cameliard may contain, so urgency wins out over decorum.

He quietly but deliberately knocks, knowing that Arthur is a heavy sleeper but Guinevere is not. He feels terrible hoping to wake his queen instead of his king, but she is much less cranky if she is woken. Plus the message is for her.

Sefa silently steps up beside him. "Why are you knocking?" she whispers. Merlin shows her the seal on the scroll and her eyes widen in understanding. He raises his fist to knock again, but drops his hand when he hears the scrape of the bolt being slid from the lock.

The door opens and he is relieved to see Guinevere looking at him, clad in a hastily-tied dressing gown.

"Forgive me, my lady, but…" Merlin offers her the scroll, keeping his eyes on hers, pretending not to notice she has nothing on beneath the dressing gown.

"Oh, dear," she says, taking it. She gnaws her lower lip for a second, then says, "Thank you. The king is still asleep."

"We'll return when the door is open again," Merlin says with a slight bow. Sefa curtseys and Guinevere manages a weak smile before closing the door.

She carries the parchment back to the bed, knowing she should open it immediately, but afraid to do so. _If he is already gone, there is no rush. But if there is a chance I can yet see him before he goes…_

"Guinevere?" Arthur mumbles, groping for her. She sits on the bed and he finds her leg. "What's going on?" he asks, prying one eye open.

"A messenger arrived from Cameliard this morning," she answers.

Arthur opens both eyes. "This morning?"

"Yes. He would have ridden all night to bring this," she says, lifting the scroll.

He watches her, notes her troubled demeanor, and immediately understands her hesitation. "Would you like me to open it?" he gently asks.

She considers it, then shakes her head. "I can do it."

"It's all right if you are nervous," he says, sitting up and moving to her side.

"I know," she whispers. Then she breaks the seal and unrolls the parchment.

Her father is still alive. But he is declining quickly and is not expected to live through another night.

"We must go," Arthur says, reading the message beside his wife. "As soon as possible."

"Thank you, Arthur," Guinevere replies, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. They sit together for another minute, then she sighs and gets back out of bed to go open the door and begin preparations for departure.

xXx

They reach Cameliard just before dinner, traveling at a fast pace and eating on horseback. Accompanied by Gwaine and Morgana, they stopped only once to give their horses a drink and relieve themselves, and are all quite tired when they arrive.

"Gwen!" A very tired-looking Elyan comes running out of the castle when the party arrives. "Gwen…" he sighs, slumping over her in a sloppy, bone-weary hug.

"Elyan," she replies, clinging to her brother. "How is Father? Please, I'd like to see—" Her words stop short when Elyan pulls away and she sees his face. "He's gone, isn't he?" she whispers, and Arthur is immediately right behind her.

"He… he knew you were coming, Gwennie… he tried… he fought _so_ hard, but…" Elyan says, and they can see he is just barely holding it together.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" Morgana suggests, deciding she needs to be the one to keep her head. She and Gwaine usher everyone inside, where they can talk – or weep – privately, away from the prying eyes of the court and the servants.

"When?" Guinevere asks once they are seated in Elyan's chambers.

"Just over two hours ago," Elyan answers.

Tears begin falling from Guinevere's eyes, and she nods, looking down. She pulls a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabs her eyes. "There was no way we could have made it," she whispers, unable to speak.

Arthur reaches for her, wanting to comfort her, but instead of sinking against him, she stiffens slightly, keeping upright in her seat. Confused, he gently rubs her back, just to let her know he is here for her.

"We left immediately," Arthur confirms. "And rode like we were being pursued."

"It's my fault," Elyan says. "I should have sent the messenger sooner."

"No, Elyan; you couldn't have predicted," Guinevere assures him. "I'm sure Edwin thought Father would last longer than he did."

Elyan nods and says, "Papa knew you tried to get here, Gwen. He knew you were on your way. He wanted to tell you how proud of you he was. How Mama would have…" He breaks off, unable to continue. Morgana hands him her handkerchief and he gratefully accepts it with no sign of being embarrassed by his tears.

"I would like to see him," Guinevere says after a few minutes.

"I thought you might," Elyan says, and they all stand.

Morgana reaches out and grabs Arthur's elbow, keeping him by her side because she knows he's going to want to follow his wife. "If you will have someone show us to our rooms, we will get settled in while the two of you say goodbye to your father," she says.

"Yes, yes, of course," Elyan says. "Forgive me; my head is elsewhere." He opens the doors and waves to a servant.

"Perfectly understandable," Arthur says. He turns to Guinevere, wishing to give her a kiss, but she doesn't raise her face to his. He kisses her forehead and says, "Take as long as you need, my love."

She nods, but doesn't say anything. Then she walks with her brother down the corridor while Arthur, Morgana, and Gwaine follow Elyan's servant to their rooms.

"Why did you grab my arm?" Arthur asks Morgana.

"Were you going to go with them?" she returns.

"Yes," he answers.

"Not the time, mate," Gwaine says. "I know you're her husband, but this is a time for her and her brother to be alone with their father to say their goodbyes as a family."

"Exactly," Morgana confirms. "You're too close to her and too worried about her to see it. And since I'm one of the few people who can keep you in line…"

"Hey!" Arthur protests. They reach their rooms, where Merlin, Sefa, and Morgana's maid, Eira, are waiting, and he adds, "Thank you."

"Any time, cousin," she answers, then leans over and kisses his cheek. "How soon will dinner be served?" she asks Elyan's servant. "I'm quite famished."

"Morgana…" Arthur rolls his eyes, but the servant is unruffled. Gwaine merely smiles and wraps his arm around her waist.

"Well, my lady, it will really depend on how long Prince Elyan and Queen Guinevere take with the late king," the servant answers. "But it should be within the hour. There are some light refreshments in your room, if you need something to tide you over," he adds.

"Thank you…"

"Will," the servant supplies.

"Thank you, Will," Morgana repeats.

xXx

Arthur, Morgana, and Gwaine were brought to the dining hall almost an hour later to find Guinevere and Elyan waiting for them. Dinner consisted of sea bass, vegetables, and bread, which was all delicious and the fresh fish was a rare treat for the residents of Camelot. It was a quiet affair, with limited conversation. Even Gwaine was more subdued than normal, and Morgana selfishly found herself wishing her father were here so he could see that Gwaine does indeed know how to be respectful and conduct himself like a noble when the occasion calls for it.

There main topic of discussion was about Cameliard's traditions and how they differ from Camelot's. Elyan and Guinevere do not sit vigil with the body of the late king the way Arthur did with his father. Instead the king is kept underground, surrounded by flowers, after being prepared by the court physician, Edwin. In the morning he will be set in a simple boat atop a pile of wood that has been soaked with pitch. The boat will be put out to sea, and Prince Elyan will shoot a flaming arrow into it, setting it alight.

After dinner, everyone retired to their rooms. Guinevere asked for a bath, and Arthur occupied his time reading a book he found in the room. It is not a particularly interesting book, but it is something to do since his wife is being unusually quiet.

Arthur hears his wife finish her bath and closes the book, replacing it on the shelf where he found it. Merlin had already assisted him in his preparations to retire, so he waits beside the bed for Guinevere.

She bids goodnight to Sefa and walks over to the bed, giving Arthur a weak smile before passing him and climbing in.

He sighs, his feeling of helplessness – accompanied by an inexplicable feeling of loneliness he can't quite understand – growing as he watches her mourn. He doesn't know what to do for her, and she's not giving him any clues about what she needs from him.

He climbs into bed beside her. She's already curled on her side, facing away from him, so he spoons behind her, fleetingly wondering if she will push him away. She hasn't exactly welcomed his touch since they arrived, and it is troubling him.

Thankfully, she doesn't. But she doesn't snuggle backwards into him the way she usually does either.

"I hope you will be able to sleep," Arthur quietly says.

"Me to," Guinevere answers. "I'm quite tired."

He kisses her shoulder and says, "I love you, Guinevere."

"Love you, too," she replies, not turning to look at him.

xXx

It is raining the next morning. Pouring. The king's funeral is postponed until the weather clears, because there is no way they will be able to set his boat on fire in this deluge.

Arthur's anxiety about Guinevere has not abated at all. He awoke in the middle of the night, when the rain started, to find his wife out of bed, sitting near the window and staring out at the rain.

"Guinevere?" he had called to her.

"I'm here," she simply answered.

"Are you all right?" he asked, starting to get out of bed.

"I'm fine. I could not sleep and did not wish to disturb you. Please, go back to bed," she said.

He walked over to her and kissed her cheek, but she did not soften any, only repeating her request that he return to bed, saying he should not deprive himself of rest just because of her.

The lifelessness of her tone felt like a stab to the heart, and, defeated, he simply nodded, kissed her forehead, and returned to bed.

Neither of them slept.

This morning, she left him alone to go assist Elyan with preparation and organization, and when last he saw them, they were in King Thomas' chambers, going through his belongings.

When the rain decreased to a drizzle, the Knights of Cameliard took to the training grounds, and Gwaine decided to join them for a little diversion and exercise. Their Captain of the Guards, Sir Ethan, had invited both Arthur and Gwaine to participate, but Arthur declined, saying he needed to make sure he was available to Guinevere should she need him.

It was at this time he went in search of Morgana. He found her in the rooms she and Gwaine were using, munching on some grapes near a window conveniently overlooking the training grounds.

"Arthur," she says, smiling. She doesn't stand, and he doesn't expect her to do so. He and his cousin have never stood on formalities, especially when they are alone. "I was wondering why I didn't see you out there. Afraid you'll melt in the rain?"

Arthur huffs a dry laugh. "Actually, I wished to talk to you."

"Me?" Morgana asks, noting his troubled expression as he sits. "What's wrong?"

"Have you noticed Guinevere's… demeanor since we arrived here?" he asks.

She thinks a moment, chewing. She swallows and says, "Yes. She's not really herself. I mean it's understandable, considering, but she is rather… subdued."

"That's a word for it," Arthur says, looking down. "She's positively frosty. It's almost like she'd rather I not be here."

"That bad?" Morgana asks, frowning.

"I don't know what to do," he says, looking to his cousin for help. "I poured my heart and soul out to her when Father died… we hadn't even been married that long… and now, when I can provide her a comforting shoulder and a sympathetic ear, she closes herself off to me," he says, perplexed.

"She is mourning, Arthur. People deal with grief in different ways; you know this," she says, glancing out the window to see Gwaine knocking two of Cameliard's finest on their backsides. She rolls her eyes and turns back to Arthur.

"She won't talk to me. She barely looks at me. I'm trying to be understanding of her grief, and I want to help her like she helped me when Father died, but… I just don't know what she wants! What she needs!" he laments, clearly upset.

Morgana reaches out and squeezes his hand. "She very likely does not even realize she is doing it," she says.

"That's what worries me," he says. "If she was doing it on purpose, well, I wouldn't like it, but I could at least understand it. But if she's shutting me out unintentionally… how do I deal with that?"

"Well," she says, reaching for a few more grapes from the bowl on the table, "you can either wait it out and see if she comes around, or you can try to draw her out. But if you decide to try to draw her out, there's a chance she may push away harder, at least initially."

Arthur heaves a sigh, then looks out of the window. Gwaine is still schooling Cameliard's knights, keeping them well-occupied while preparations are being made for the funeral and Elyan's coronation. Then he sees Guinevere walking alone, away from the castle.

"What is she doing without an escort?" he sharply asks.

"Arthur," Morgana says in a warning tone. "Now is not the time."

He slumps. "I know. It's just… reflexes. I do realize she's still on castle grounds."

"You love her, so you want to protect her. I understand that. And while you can't protect her from her own grief, you can do everything you can to let her know that you are there for her when – and if – she ever wishes to talk to you about it."

"So, patience then," Arthur sighs.

"Yes. I know it's not your strong suit, but that is what is needed now," she counsels. "I've gotten to know Gwen fairly well. Once she realizes what she's doing, she will come around, I'm sure of it."

xXx

The funeral finally happens at noon, pushing the coronation, originally planned for the afternoon, to evening. Everyone gathers on the shore near the castle, Elyan and Guinevere in the front. Arthur, Morgana, and Gwaine are a short distance behind, along with Sir Ethan and a few other visiting nobles who made the journey.

Guinevere is wearing a black gown. She has her mother's circlet on her head, and her hair is loose but veiled in black lace. Elyan is dressed in his finest chainmail, his dark teal cape blowing in the breeze. They are both barefoot.

"To connect them to the earth," Sir Ethan whispers. He is standing just behind Arthur and has been providing quiet commentary and explanations.

Arthur nods, but all he can think is _They are fortunate it is not winter._

Elyan says some words, then a small ceremony is conducted by an older man Ethan says is called Chaucey.

Guinevere steps forward and quietly, tearfully, sings a short song in the Old Language.

"I didn't know she could sing," Morgana whispers. "She has a beautiful voice."

Arthur mutely nods. He didn't realize this either, and feels ridiculous for it. He's heard her humming, but never singing.

Finally, Elyan and Guinevere turn to the boat. Guinevere lights a small torch from a candle held by Chaucey, and carefully walks down to the boat. There are four torches attached to the wooden boat, two in the front and two in the back. She lights them from her torch, then steps back to allow Elyan to push the boat into the water.

"Those are in case Prince Elyan misses his shot," Ethan whispers. "They will burn down and set the kindling in the boat alight if the flaming arrow either misses or does not take."

Chaucey hands Elyan an ornate bow, then an arrow with the point wrapped to be lit. Elyan lights his arrow from Guinevere's torch, notches it, and pauses, waiting for the boat to move far enough away from shore.

He draws the bow back, and everyone holds their breath. He releases the arrow, and it flies true, in a gentle parabolic arc, landing perfectly in the boat.

The pitch-soaked kindling quickly lights with a _whoosh_ , and everyone breathes again. Chaucey says some parting words, and gradually, the crowd disperses.

Except for Guinevere, who stands facing the water, watching her father's floating pyre drift away on the current.

"You do not have to wait with me," she says, not turning around. "Please go back to the castle."

Arthur steps back, but does not leave. He will not leave her like he did last night.

She stands, watching, until the boat can no longer be seen. Arthur can hear her crying and longs to go to her, to hold her and let her know he is here, but he waits, knowing she will likely spurn his attention.

Finally, Guinevere wipes her face with a handkerchief and turns. She pulls up short when she sees Arthur leaning against a boulder.

"You're still here," she says. It is a simple declaration. She sounds neither pleased nor upset that he stayed.

"Of course," he replies, stepping forward. "I did not want you to feel as though you were alone," he adds with a small smile.

She stares at him, her expression still blank and unreadable. Then she nods once, and begins to walk to the castle.

"Guinevere," he softly says, reaching out as she passes, his fingers gently wrapping around her arm. "Please, talk to me, Love."

She stiffens and spins towards him. "What do you want me to say?" she sharply asks.

He's thrown by her tone, blinking in surprise as he contemplates his response. " _Anything_ ," he finally says. "Anything at all, just… I know you're grieving, and I only wish to help you the way you helped me when my father died. Because you are my wife and I love you. But I can't do that if you don't let me. Please don't shut me out."

"I haven't been shutting you out, Arthur," she says, but even as the words come out of her mouth, she realizes they may not exactly be true. "I…" She looks down, then out over the water again before quietly asking, "Have I?"

He slides his hand down her arm and takes her hand in his. "I don't think you've been doing it intentionally, but… yes, you have," he says. "You stiffen when I touch you. You don't talk to me, not really." He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand and says, "You were there for me when my father died. You were my… my rock. You kept me sane, kept my feet on the ground and my head above water. Please… that is all I want to do for you. I will do anything you wish, but I just… don't know what it is you need, Love."

She looks down again and sniffles as the tears return. "I don't know either," she admits at length. She slips her hand out of his and takes two steps away, facing the water. "I was very young when Mother died… I don't remember it, not really. I've never dealt with something like this before, Arthur. My father is the first person close to me who has died." She turns to look at him. "And because I was raised to believe that _my_ needs are not important, that _I_ was on this earth only to be your wife…" She pauses, shaking her head. "I don't know how to grieve for my father!" she yells. "I don't know if I want to talk to you, or just let you hold me or… if I want to _punch_ something!" She bends down, picks up a rock, and throws it as hard as she can into the water. "I'm… I'm sad, and I'm angry, and I'm frustrated, and _I don't know what to do!_ "

Arthur walks up to her, slowly, like he is approaching a frightened deer. When he is two steps away, he holds his arms out at his sides, palms facing her. "I am here for whatever you need, my love. If you want to talk until you are hoarse, you will have my undivided attention. If you want me to hold you, I am happy to do that. If you want to punch something… you can punch me. Or you can throw me in the water, too, if you think that will make you feel better. All I ask is that you not turn me away."

Guinevere contemplates her husband, standing there, offering himself to her, ready to take whatever she gives him. Her hands are balled into tight fists at her sides, but she doesn't want to punch him. She picks up another rock and throws it, grunting with the effort, then turns and nearly falls into Arthur's arms, sobbing.

"Shhh," he soothes, wrapping his arms around her. "It's all right, Love, just let it out," he whispers, rubbing her back.

They stand together for several minutes until Guinevere's tears have run out. She lifts her face and he sees her eyes are swollen and red and her cheeks are wet and blotchy. He swipes his thumbs over her cheeks, and she pulls away slightly, withdrawing her handkerchief from her sleeve. She turns away and blows her nose rather indelicately, but she finds she doesn't care. _He's already seen the worst of me._ Then she takes a deep breath.

"I want you to know… what I said before about being raised to only be your wife preventing me from knowing how to mourn for my father… I do not blame you," she says.

"I didn't think you did," he replies, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear.

"I still needed to say it," she explains.

"I understand," he replies, kissing her forehead before wiping away one more errant tear.

"I'm sure I look awful," she says, attempting to smooth her hair, forgetting it is veiled. Arthur opens his mouth, but she cuts him off before he can say anything. "Don't even say I still look beautiful, because I have a pretty good idea what I must look like."

"You've looked better, yes, but you _are_ still beautiful," he says. "Of course, I have absolutely no objectivity," he admits. Then he bends down and picks up a smooth, flat rock. He turns it over a few times in his hand, then throws it, side-arm, and skips it across the waves.

Guinevere watches, wide-eyed, then spins back towards him. "Teach me how to do that!" she exclaims.

Arthur smiles. "You've never skipped rocks before? You grew up _here_ and you've never…?"

"I was barely allowed outside the castle, remember?" she asks. "Now show me."

xXx

Arthur and Guinevere went back inside the castle only for two reasons: her feet were cold, and they had to prepare for the coronation. Arthur offered her his boots, but she declined, saying that she would appear unseemly clomping around in her husband's overly large boots.

She succeeded in skipping a few rocks, but did not have near the amount of success she wished for. Arthur was able to get the rocks to skip many times, but Guinevere could only get two or three. He assured her it would take some practice, and they could try again at the river near Camelot.

She changes into a different dress, in Cameliard's colors of teal and silver, reflecting the seafaring nature of the port kingdom. The black lace is removed from her hair, but the circlet remains, and Sefa pins up the sides of Guinevere's hair away from her face, leaving the back long.

The coronation is to take place at sunset, followed by a feast.

Everyone that attended the funeral also attends the coronation, but some will leave before the feast, wishing to return home before it gets too late.

Arthur watches the ceremony from the front row, beside his wife, interested in seeing a coronation from the other side, wondering if it will be any different than his was in Camelot.

He decides it really isn't. Apart from a few different words here and there, it's basically the same. _I suppose there aren't many different ways one can go about crowning someone king._

Finally, Elyan stands and turns to face the crowd. During shouts of "Long live the king!", he meets Arthur's eyes and gives him a very slight nod, which Arthur returns. On Guinevere's suggestion, he managed to get a few minutes alone with his brother-in-law before the coronation, to give him some words of encouragement and reassurance, one young king to another.

King Elyan of Cameliard walks down the few steps from the dais and down the aisle, exiting the hall. The crowd waits while Guinevere and Arthur file out behind him before dispersing, not only out of deference to their titles, but of respect for their princess.

As Arthur walks out with her, he sees many proud faces smiling at his wife. Guinevere notices several people whispering and pointedly looking at her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Love," Arthur says when she tells him later. "For what it's worth, I only saw admiring smiles cast your way."

She manages a smile of her own and says, "That is because I know these people and know which ones will be gossiping about my childlessness."

He kisses her and says, "Well, don't look at those people then. Clearly they do not have anything better to do with their time."

She chuckles despite herself, lightly shoving his shoulder. "Come. We should find our seats."

They are seated beside Elyan at the head table, with Morgana and Gwaine at the next beside Sir Ethan and a few of the other knights and their wives. Conversation is light and pleasant; no one wishes to discuss anything heavy or important after the long day.

"So Elyan, your father never brokered a wife for you?" Arthur asks, looking past a surprised Guinevere to see the new king.

Elyan's eyes widen, then he says, "No, he didn't, surprisingly. He made a few inquiries, but it seems he had no luck."

"It will be the source of gossip," Guinevere says. "Wondering if the king will ever take a wife, and then when you finally do, everyone will begin to talk about children and start gossiping about your affairs behind closed doors."

Elyan stares at his sister for a moment, taken aback by the bitterness in her tone. Then realization hits him. "I'm sorry, Gwen," he quietly says. "Is it very bad?"

"I don't _hear_ much," she says. "But I know it's going on. There were even some of those looks from people here."

"Lady Edith?" Elyan guesses.

Guinevere nods. "And Ladies Odile and Forestyne."

"And don't forget Lord Wallace, that old busybody," Elyan adds, and they both start laughing.

"Lord Wallace?" Arthur asks, and Guinevere discreetly points to a thin old man who appears to do nothing apart from look around, making mental judgments about everyone he sees. "Right."

"But back to the _real_ topic at hand," Guinevere says. "My brother needs a wife."

"I wouldn't say I _need_ one," Elyan protests. "I'm not even 17 yet! You at least waited until you were 18!" he says to Arthur.

"Yes, but it had been arranged when I was three!" Arthur retorts, laughing.

xXx

The party from Camelot plans to set out for home the next morning, after a nice breakfast with the new king and a few others, where they largely discuss Gwaine's involvement in the previous day's training exercises.

"He is a madman!" Sir Ethan exclaims. "He managed to not only disarm me, but caught my sword with his other hand!"

"He's teaching me how to do that," Morgana replies with a grin.

"You, my lady?" Ethan asks, intrigued. "You have sword training?"

"Indeed I do," she answers.

"Lady Morgana could likely best more than a handful of your knights, I would wager," Arthur adds, and Gwaine nods his agreement. "She nearly bested me once or twice. When we were younger and she was still taller than me."

"Oh, now, that's a wager I would love to accept," Ethan says.

Morgana laughs. "Perhaps next time," she says. "I am not prepared to participate in such activities, and I highly doubt you have any armor suitable for me."

The knight angles his head in acknowledgement. "Next time, then, my lady. I look forward to it," he says, holding his hand out. She puts her hand in it, and he kisses it.

"That will give my husband more time to teach me that disarming move," she says, her voice full of mischief as she drizzles a measure of honey on a slice of bread.

"I am sorry I missed it," Elyan says. "I remember Sir Gwaine from last year's tournament. He was very impressive."

"Nearly won," Gwaine says. "Sun got in me eyes and put me at a disadvantage," he explains.

"You did not win the tournament, Sire?" Ethan asks Arthur.

"Alas, I had been eliminated in an earlier round," Arthur answers without shame.

"By me," Gwaine says.

"And he hasn't bested me since," Arthur quickly adds. "Though not for lack of trying."

"You simply must come back sometime and train with us, my lord," Ethan says, looking at Arthur with an expression of awe.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Arthur replies.

xXx

The ride home is slower and less frantic than the one there, as there is no urgency. They even stop for a quiet, leisurely lunch consisting of leftovers from the feast that Elyan's cook had packed for them.

After they eat, the two women head into the woods, away from the men, to empty their bladders. There is a small stream, and Morgana splashes her face with the cool water, saying she needs to wake up a little more.

They begin walking back, and Guinevere decides to ask the question that has been on her mind since the previous night at the feast when she saw Morgana appeared tired and was not drinking any wine.

"How long have you been with child?" she quietly asks.

Morgana turns and faces her cousin, eyes wide. "How did you know?" she asks. "Did Gwaine tell you, that traitor?" She knows her husband and the queen are close, but she didn't expect that he would break her confidence like this.

"No, not at all," Guinevere answers. "You've been eating a lot more, except for this morning, when I could tell you weren't feeling well. You're not usually tired like you have been lately. And…" she pointedly looks at Morgana's bosom.

Morgana claps her hands over her cleavage. "Oh! Yes, well, it is pretty obvious there," she admits. "Not all of us are as gifted as you in that department, you know," she adds with a smirk.

Guinevere smiles and hugs her. "I'm so happy for you," she says. She truly is, but her words are still tinged with wistful sadness. "Congratulations."

"It has been nearly three months," Morgana says, finally answering her question. "I… I was afraid to tell you, to be honest. I did not wish to upset you."

Guinevere nods. "I understand. I would feel the same way. And I truly am happy for you." She pauses. "You must have gotten with child on your wedding night!" she exclaims.

"Probably," Morgana admits, a slow, naughty smile creeping across her face, obviously fondly remembering that night. "Come, our husbands are waiting," she says, looping her arm through Guinevere's.

When they rejoin the men, Morgana immediately tells Arthur. "Since your brilliant wife figured out our secret, it is not fair that you be left in the dark," she says when he hugs her.

Arthur congratulates Gwaine as well, then they all mount their horses and resume their journey home.

"Arthur," Guinevere says after a time.

"Yes, Love?" he asks.

"Will we be passing your… secret place?"

He smiles. "No, but we _could_ if we took a small detour," he answers. "And it's _our_ secret place now, not just mine."

"Can we?" she asks. "I… I think I just want some time alone with you, away from the everyone, away from the kingdom, before we return home."

"Where we can just be two people in love, not king and queen," he says, completely understanding.

"Yes," she gratefully sighs.

"Gwaine," Arthur calls over his shoulder, and the knight rides forward.

"Are you lost?" Gwaine teases.

Arthur rolls his eyes, ignoring him. "When we get to the fork in the road near the great boulder, Guinevere and I will be taking the right fork. You all continue on the left directly to Camelot. Take Merlin and Sefa, too."

"Ah, you want some alone time then," Gwaine says, slowly nodding, innuendo clear in his voice. "Going to take the long way home."

"Something like that," Arthur says. "The queen wishes for some quiet solace before returning to the bustle of the castle."

"Call it whatever you like, mate," Gwaine says, winking at Guinevere. "Just make sure you make good use of your time." Then he drops back to ride beside Morgana.

"He's far cleverer than he lets on," Arthur mutters.

"That's intentional, darling," Guinevere replies.

xXx

They part ways at the boulder, and Arthur easily leads them to their hidden picnic spot. They tie their horses near the river so they can drink if they wish, then spread out a blanket on the ground.

"Pity we have no actual pillows," Arthur says as they sit.

"It's all right," Guinevere replies, just happy to be able to snatch this little moment of complete privacy.

Arthur pulls his boots off and lies back, resting his head on his folded-up cloak. "You can use me as a pillow," he offers, holding his arm out.

"You are my favorite pillow," Guinevere says, nestling in beside him. The stream gurgles nearby, accompanied by occasional noises made by their horses. It is pleasantly warm, and birds are chirping around them as well. "I do love spring," she says after several minutes of simply listening to the music of nature. "I like to watch new things sprout out of the ground. Buds forming on the trees. New life everywhere. It's so hopeful."

Arthur kisses her forehead and says, "You can add that to your list. Do you still have it?"

"Somewhere," she answers, laughing a little. "I had nearly forgotten about it."

"I have always preferred—"

"Autumn. I know," she interjects, laughing more now.

"Oh yes, that's right," he answers, joining her laughter. After a moment's pause, he says, "It really is too bad that my father, in his quest to have you learn everything you could about me, robbed you of getting to experience the joy I feel at discovering new things about you."

She abruptly sits up and looks down at him. "Oh, but he hasn't," she says. "I did not know you had a gentle, tender side. That came as quite a surprise, and, even a year later, I am still learning new things about you every day. Uther did not truly know how you would behave as a husband. There was no way he could. He only knew you as a father knows his son, not as a wife knows her husband."

"That's a very good thing," Arthur jokes, but his eyes are soft.

She indulgently smiles at him, then strokes his face. "I've seen you with your men, Arthur. With the Council. Holding court. And I've noticed that your softness, your affectionate nature… You are very kind to your people, but… I'm the only person who truly gets to see that side of you, aren't I?" she asks, angling her head at him.

He catches her hand and kisses it. "Yes. And that is as it should be," he says, beckoning her closer. "For you are my wife, and therefore are privy to things about me no one else is," he pauses, kissing her. "I know there are sides of you only I get to see," he continues, kissing her again until she drops down over him. "Like this one," he rasps, rolling them until she is beneath him. "So it is only fair…"

She pulls him down, silently telling him the time for talking is over. They kiss until they no longer notice the hard ground beneath them or any of the sounds they were enjoying just minutes before.

"Arthur," she gasps, her hands sliding down his chest to the ties of his trousers while he steadily works on moving her skirts up.

She frees the laces and slips her hand inside, enjoying the sound of his grunt when she closes her hand around him.

Between them, they manage to get her skirts out of the way, thankful she is wearing a light riding dress instead of one of her heavier, more formal gowns. She shoves his trousers down just enough to completely free him, then guides him into place.

"Impatient," Arthur chuckles, then slides into her with a groan. "Oh…"

Guinevere answers with a moan, her body slightly arching under him. He brings his face back down to hers and catches her lips in a searing kiss, matching her need with his. His one hand gropes for a breast, closing over it, his thumb sweeping over her nipple, feeling it harden in response through the material of her dress.

"I love you," he whispers, his forehead against hers as they move together under the budding trees, their bodies warmed by the sun.

"I love you," she answers, her voice just a breath, and seconds later, they climax together, Guinevere gasping and tightening her legs around his hips just as Arthur lets out a throaty groan and stills, buried deep inside of her.

"Oh, yes," he sighs, slumping over her.

She hums her agreement, wrapping her arms as well as her legs around him, holding him as close as is possible.

"Am I crushing you?" he asks.

"Well, the ground here hasn't gotten any softer, but I'm fine," she answers. "Truth is, I don't want to let go of you yet."

"All right," he replies. He is still sheathed within her, and will happily stay there in her arms for as long as she wishes.

After a time, she squirms a bit, and he takes it as his cue to carefully roll off of her. She adjusts her dress and he, his trousers. Then she moves and cuddles up beside him again.

"I didn't ask to come here because I wanted to have my way with you," she says.

"I know. I think there's just something about this place," he replies. "Or perhaps there is just something about you," he adds, looking down at her. He kisses her again, then she settles her head on his shoulder.

After a few minutes, Guinevere says, "Thank you, Arthur."

"…You're welcome?" he answers, unsure why he's being thanked.

She lifts up, leaning up on her elbow to look down at him. "For pulling me out of myself. For not simply throwing your hands up and letting me continue to close myself off from you." She leans down, kisses him and says, "For being here for me."

He returns her kiss and says, "I will always be here for you."


	12. Chapter 12

" _That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out." -Andrea Gibson_

Arthur was away when Guinevere learned she was finally with child. He and a handful of his knights went on a trip to settle a skirmish near the northern border of the kingdom. Guinevere's courses were due the day he left, and after a week of no activity, she quietly sought out the midwife who has been caring for Morgana.

"Norma, a moment, if you please," Guinevere says, lurking outside Morgana and Gwaine's quarters one morning.

"My lady!" the midwife exclaims, surprised to find the queen waiting there. "With what can I help you?" she asks, figuring the young queen likely wishes to inquire about herbs or treatments to increase the chances of conception.

"May I have a private word?" Guinevere asks. "If… if you have another appointment, you may return at your earliest convenience, of course…"

"No, no… I am free," Norma answers, now certain that her hunch is correct. She follows the queen to the royal chambers, where she is bid to sit.

Guinevere sits, and decides to get right to the point. "I think I may be with child," she simply says.

Norma's eyes widen in surprise for just a moment before she schools her features. "What makes you think so, my lady?" she asks.

"My courses are a week late," Guinevere answers, clasping her hands together on the tabletop. "They are normally quite regular. And my stomach has been rather unsettled."

"In the mornings?" Norma asks.

"Most of the time actually," she answers. "It helps if I have a bite to eat, though I do not really wish to eat."

"Any tiredness or tenderness in your breasts?" the midwife asks.

"No," Guinevere replies. "I was rather hoping you would… take a look?"

"Yes, of course, that was going to be my next suggestion," Norma says. "I trust you haven't yet spoken to Gaius?"

"I haven't spoken to anyone. Not even Lady Morgana," Guinevere says. "And the king is away, as you know."

"I see. If you would lie down on the bed, I will examine you," the midwife instructs.

"Thank you," Guinevere says with a nod, then moves to the bed.

The examination is quick but thorough. Guinevere was a little anxious about it, but Norma's calm and straightforward demeanor helped put her at ease. She didn't coddle or baby the young queen, but took care to explain everything she was doing in plain terms.

"It seems your intuition was correct, my lady," Norma pronounces. "You are carrying the king's child," she says with a smile.

"Finally," Guinevere exhales, sitting up. It almost comes out as a sob, because tears immediately sprung from her eyes at the confirmation.

Norma sits and wraps a motherly arm around Guinevere, who leans against her as she cries with joy and relief. The midwife cannot imagine the strain that the queen must have been under, knowing that she is expected to bring an heir to the kingdom but failing at this one main responsibility for more than a year. _Poor lamb. She's little more than a child herself_. "Congratulations, my lady," she whispers.

Guinevere seems to realize she is weeping on the midwife's shoulder and straightens up, wiping her eyes. "Forgive me," she says. "That was somewhat improper."

"Do not give it a second thought," Norma casually says. "It happens more frequently than you may realize, especially if the mother-to-be is very young or has lost her own mother." She tactfully leaves out that women who have unwanted pregnancies also cry on her shoulder, but for a different reason.

Guinevere sniffles and says, "I believe I fall into both of those categories."

"Indeed, my lady," Norma agrees. "Not only that, but you also have the added stress of the entire kingdom watching you. That cannot be a light burden to bear," she sympathetically adds.

"It is not," Guinevere admits. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome," Norma replies with a smile. "Now, I will advise you to keep this news quiet for at least three months. Of course you may tell the king and those closest to you, like your brother and Lady Morgana. But do not make any formal announcements."

Guinevere nods, but asks, "May I ask why?"

"Mainly because the risk of losing the child is much higher during the first months," Norma says, then quickly adds, "However, I see no reason for concern. You are very healthy and everything appears as it should."

"Oh, good," Guinevere says. "Still… things can happen, can't they?"

"Yes, they can," Norma answers. "But do not let it cause you undue worry. When the gods give, it is for a reason, and when they take away, it is _also_ for a reason."

"The trouble is, we are not always meant to know those reasons," Guinevere says.

Norma smiles. "You are wise beyond your years, my lady," she pronounces, standing. "When do you expect the king to return?" she asks.

"Any day now," she answers. "I received a message yesterday saying they will be leaving Longstead very soon."

xXx

Arthur returns home that evening. A page knocks on Guinevere's doors just as she and Morgana are finishing dinner to tell her that the king's party had been spotted.

She thanks the young man, then the two women hurry out the door and down to the courtyard to greet their husbands.

Morgana is just starting to show, but it is only noticeable to those closest to her. The casual observer would not see her slightly thicker middle, but she is already complaining that her gowns are not fitting well. She has been very conscious of not talking about her pregnancy to Guinevere too much, even though the queen said it did not bother her to hear, and even regularly asks about it.

It was very difficult for Guinevere to not tell the woman who has become her closest friend her news, especially when they dined together. But it was important to her that Arthur hear the news before anyone else, so she held her tongue.

They arrive in the courtyard just as Arthur and the men appear, and Guinevere's face breaks into a broad grin. Arthur's face mirrors hers, and he spurs his horse into a faster trot to reach her sooner.

He swings down practically before the horse stops and runs to her, lifting her off her feet as he hugs her.

He exuberantly kisses her, and by the time he is finished, Gwaine is greeting his wife in a similar manner.

"Hello," Arthur says, rubbing Guinevere's nose with his.

"Welcome home, my lord," she sweetly replies. "Have you eaten?"

"I'm starving," he answers, releasing her from his embrace. "You have probably already had dinner," he adds, taking her hand and walking into the castle.

"Yes, but I will sit with you," she says. "I'm so glad you're home. And unhurt."

"Not a scratch, my love," he boasts. "As skirmishes go, it turned out to be quite boring actually. We wound up doing more talking and negotiating than fighting."

"That's good though," she says. "Did you resolve anything?"

"Not fully, but I believe I've made some headway with Odin. Well, not him personally, but his Captain of the Guards," he answers.

As soon as they are inside the royal chambers, Arthur begins removing armor, not bothering to wait for Merlin, who has gone to fetch his master some dinner.

"Let me help you," Guinevere says, stepping over and reaching for some buckles she knows he will not be able to undo himself. She is anxious to tell him her news, but hasn't decided exactly how yet.

"Thank you," he says. "Odin's captain now knows I am not my father," he continues, "and gave me his word he would report this to his king. I think I may draft some sort of message to him…"

"That is a good idea," she responds just as Merlin enters with a tray.

"My lady, that is my job," he says, stepping over to relieve her.

"My fault," Arthur admits. "I've been in this armor for too long."

"I've already got water heating for your bath," Merlin says.

"Good man," the king replies, muffled slightly by the fact that his chainmail is being pulled over his head.

Guinevere lets Arthur talk more about his journey, an idea formulating in her mind as she watches Merlin and a few pages slog in and out with buckets for the king's bath.

Finally, Arthur finishes eating and the bath is ready. Sefa helps her change for the night behind a screen while Merlin assists his master.

Once she hears the quiet splash of the king sinking into the tub, Sefa scurries out, keeping her distance and averting her eyes, and Guinevere walks over, intercepting Merlin.

"Thank you, Merlin," she says. "I will tend the king." She holds her hand out.

Merlin opens his mouth, blushes, then closes it and hands her the cloth. "Yes, my lady," he quickly says, then nearly runs out of the room.

Guinevere sits on a low stool beside the tub and chuckles when she sees the smile on Arthur's face.

"I was hoping you would kick him out," he says, opening his eyes.

She smiles, soaps up the cloth, and begins running it over his shoulders, enjoying the feel of his muscles under her hands.

"Did anything happen while I was gone?" he asks.

"It was fairly quiet," she answers. "I saw a few petitioners in the great hall. Agravaine did not cause any problems in the Council meeting." She pauses a moment, then casually adds, "Oh, and you're going to be a father."

Arthur suddenly sits bolt upright, sloshing some water onto the floor. He stares at her, his eyes like saucers. "What did you just say?" he asks.

Guinevere's lips twitch. She can't resist. "I saw some petitioners in the gr—"

"Guinevere, I love you, but do not toy with me," he says, looking like he is about to jump out of his skin.

Finally, she lets her smile grow. "I'm with child," she says. "I saw the midwife today."

Quick as lighting, he grabs her, pulling her into his wet embrace and tucking his face into her neck. "Oh…" is the only word he can manage. Then he moves his head and kisses her, holding her so tightly that she winds up across his lap, in the water, her feet dangling over the side of the tub.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, but that's the only word she can get out before his lips find hers, kissing her almost desperately.

"Am I the first person you've told?" he asks, still peppering her face with small kisses as his hand finds her stomach and begins gently caressing it.

"Yes. I wanted you to be the first to know," she answers. "Arthur, my nightgown is getting soaked."

He looks down at them and only then remembers that he was in the tub when Guinevere gave him the news. "Oh," he simply says, gives her another kiss, then helps her out of the tub.

She stares down at herself and sighs, now wet from her chest to her knees, her gown clinging to her in a way that leaves very little to the imagination. Then she sees Arthur watching her with undisguised interest – no, with undisguised lust – and is slightly surprised to find she feels the urge to just remove the gown completely and join him in that tub.

 _It's not big enough for two_ , she reasons. "I'll be right back," she says, walking away to retrieve a dry gown.

"I'll be here," he answers, picking up the fallen cloth and soap. "Then you can wash my hair," he adds, his voice hopeful.

xXx

"When do you think it happened… you know… took?" Arthur asks, lazily dragging his fingers up and down Guinevere's bare skin as she cuddles against him.

"I've been giving it some thought. I'd like to think it was that day by the stream," she answers. "It would be the right amount of time."

"I like that thought. I knew that place was special," he agrees, turning onto his side and easing her onto her back. Then he places his palm flat on her stomach. "It doesn't seem real," he says, moving down to place a kiss just below her bellybutton.

"I know," she says. "Maybe it will once I begin showing. Of course, Morgana says it still hasn't sunken in for her, and she is beginning to show."

"She's going to be overjoyed when you tell her," he replies, still kissing her stomach. "Did the midwife give you any, um, instructions?" he asks, turning his head to rest his cheek on her belly.

"Instructions?" Guinevere repeats, looking down at him. "She said I was to rest as much as I felt necessary, eat whatever I want, and limit the amount of wine and ale I drink."

"Anything _else_?" Arthur asks, his hands beginning to wander.

"Oh," she answers, realizing what he means. But she's still a bit puzzled. "Arthur, we just…"

"I know we did," he says. "But did she mention anything _specific_?"

"No… Arthur, what are you getting at—oh!" she exclaims when he suddenly moves lower, nudging his shoulders between her thighs.

xXx

As Arthur predicted, Morgana was thrilled when Guinevere told her. They invited Morgana and Gwaine to a private dinner the next night, and told them then. The two women immediately began comparing notes and discussing details, while Gwaine and Arthur quietly ate with stupid smiles on their faces, watching their wives.

Merlin and Sefa were both informed out of necessity, and Guinevere sent a message to Elyan (entrusting only Gwaine with the message), but no one else was told. And as the midwife was already making regular visits to the castle, no one noticed any change.

Except Agravaine.

"Arthur, a word, if you please," he says one day after a council meeting. In a rare display of tact, he had the decency to wait until everyone else, including the queen, was gone before continuing.

"What is it, Uncle?" Arthur asks. "I am expected on the training fields."

"This won't take but a minute," Agravaine assures him. He clears his throat and says, "I could not help but notice Queen Guinevere has seemed rather tired lately. And I do not recall her ever needing to leave a meeting before." The previous week, Guinevere had to excuse herself from a morning council meeting because she wasn't feeling well.

"Is there a point to these little insights of yours?" Arthur asks.

"My lord," Sir Leon calls to him from the doorway.

"I will be there presently. Thank you, Leon," Arthur replies, then turns back to his uncle.

"Am I correct in drawing the conclusion that the queen is finally with child?" Agravaine asks.

Arthur pauses a moment before sternly answering, "Yes. It is not public knowledge, and I expect you to keep your overly large mouth closed about this issue until it has been announced." Agravaine opens his mouth, but Arthur continues before his uncle can speak. "If I hear one word before that time about this news from anyone the queen and I have not personally told – _anyone –_ the blame will be on you and I _will_ throw you in the dungeons this time."

"Yes, Sire," Agravaine answers, paling slightly. "I know you do not trust me, but I assure you I will not breathe a word."

Arthur thinks about telling him that Morgana knows, but decides to let him stew. He briefly narrows his eyes, gives him a curt nod, then leaves. He would be impressed at his uncle's astute observations, but as they are in regards to his wife, he finds he's a bit put off by them. Agravaine didn't make any inappropriate remarks, but his close attention to the queen still feels inappropriate.

Especially because he knows the bodices of his wife's gowns have been fitting a little tighter as well. Frowning, he goes out to the training fields.

xXx

"Guinevere, wha—oh…" Arthur's confusion at being woken in the middle of the night turns into a surprised moan as he realizes exactly _how_ he was awoken.

Guinevere is well into her fourth month now and her frequent queasy feelings have been replaced by frequent amorous feelings.

Arthur looks down to see his wife's dark head moving up and down just below his waist as she takes him in her mouth, drawing him into surprised wakefulness. He doesn't know exactly how long she's been down there, but he vaguely remembers dreaming about something _very_ nice just before he woke up.

"Oh… Love… come up here," he groans, gently closing his fingers around her arm.

She releases him and slides up to him. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asks, grinning.

"No need to apologize," he says between kisses. "Not for this."

"But I woke you up last night, too," she says, more serious now.

"And the one before that," he says, moving his lips to her neck.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," he insists. "Truly." He slides his hands down, pulling her thighs up so she is fully straddling him.

"Oh…" she moans, reaching down to help guide his length into her. She kisses him, rocking her hips.

He moves his hands over her breasts, treating them gently, though she said they weren't as sensitive as they were in the early months. He lifts up slightly, coaxing her more upright, and kisses them, his tongue soft on her nipples.

She sighs and whispers his name, moving one hand up to thread her fingers into his hair. He hums in the back of his throat and sits up further until they are face to face.

"I love you," she whispers, framing his face with her hands as she continues to move. She can feel the very slight swell of her stomach brushing against his; it never used to.

"I love you, too," he answers, his arms around her back and his face in her neck.

"Oh," she gasps, wrapping her arms around him now. She climaxes a few moments later, and he follows shortly after.

They sit together, holding one another, for a short while, listening to the sounds of the crickets and night birds as they float in from the open windows.

Arthur kisses Guinevere once more, then they untangle themselves and lie back down. His hand strays over her stomach.

"There is more here," he observes.

"Yes, I know," she agrees. "Norma thinks I am close to five months along. It is going to become fairly evident soon. I think several of the servants – and possibly Sir Leon – already suspect."

"If you weren't so tiny, it would not be so obvious," he says, pulling her closer into his arms. "I will have an announcement drafted up in the morning." They have been putting it off as long as possible, not because of the safety issue, but because Morgana's baby is very close to being due and they were trying to wait until he is born so as not to have the news of an heir to the throne overshadow the birth.

But it is looking like Gwaine and Morgana's baby is going to take his time. Morgana has been quite uncomfortable for the past month, and Norma has visited her every day this week. All the midwife will say is, "Soon, Love, but Baby will only come when Baby is ready."

"Can't help that," Guinevere replies, her eyes heavy again. She curls against his side and he kisses her forehead.

"Sleep now," Arthur whispers.

xXx

They announce the queen's pregnancy the next morning, and Morgana goes into labor that night.

"It's like he knew and was deliberately waiting," Arthur comments. He looks up to see Guinevere standing and wringing her hands. He smiles. "Go on," he urges, knowing she likely wishes to go and see the birth.

"I want to, but I'm… I'm afraid," she quietly admits.

"Would you like me to come along?" he asks.

"Will you? I know you won't be able to go in, but I'm sure Gwaine would appreciate the company," she says.

"Of course," he replies, standing. "I'm actually glad you want to go and see," he says as they walk towards Morgana and Gwaine's rooms. "I'm sure Sister Lillian—"

"Lydia," Guinevere corrects.

"Right. I'm sure Sister Lydia painted a picture of childbirth that was all roses and sunshine, hoping to encourage you to want to have as many children as you could manage," Arthur says.

She laughs. "She really didn't give me much information at all," she responds. "As you once said, how could she know what it's like?"

"Exactly. Ah, Sir Gwaine, how is everything going?" Arthur asks the unusually worried-looking knight, seated on a bench in the corridor.

"I hate being shut out," Gwaine replies. "Bloody stupid rule, that. I was there when the babby was made, I should be there when he comes into the world."

"Would you mind terribly if I went in?" Guinevere asks.

"Please," Gwaine answers. "She was hoping you'd come."

"Oh," she exclaims, a little surprised. She puts her hand on Gwaine's shoulder. "If I can, I'll come out and give you reports on her progress."

Gwaine takes his queen's hand and kisses it. "Thank ye, my lady. You are a true friend."

Guinevere leans down and kisses his cheek, then turns to her husband. "Thank you," she whispers, then kisses him.

"Go," he says with a smile.

She nods, then goes to the doors. She hears no screaming or moaning, so she softly knocks on the door. "Morgana? It's me, Gwen. May I come in?"

The door cracks open a moment later to reveal Norma's face. "Please come in, my lady," the midwife bids. Guinevere heads inside, and Norma adds, "Sir Gwaine, Lady Morgana is doing just fine. However, it will be a little while yet."

"Thank you, Norma," Gwaine answers, managing a sad smile.

"I know you wish to be in here with us, but you will be more of a distraction than a help, I am afraid," Norma says. "Good evening, Sire," she says to Arthur.

"Good evening, Norma," Arthur replies. "Please, um…"

"Do not worry, Sire," Norma says, knowing what the king is going to ask. "I promise she will not be frightened by what she sees. She will likely become less worried."

"Good," Arthur says.

"Norma…" Morgana's voice calls from within the chambers.

Norma drops a small curtsey, then disappears, leaving the two men sitting and staring at a pair of closed doors.

xXx

Arthur and Gwaine kill time by discussing combat techniques, which quickly escalated into sparring in the hallway with some poles they yanked out of some tapestries on the walls.

It ends rather abruptly when Guinevere pokes her head out of the doors and glares at them. "We. Can. Hear. You," she says. "And Sir Gwaine, I have a message from your wife."

Gwaine's eyes widen in anticipation. "Yes?"

"She said, and please remember these are her words, 'I hope Arthur bashes him in the bollocks.'"

Gwaine blinks, and before he can say anything, a loud groan sounds from within the chambers. "Oh," is all he says, suddenly understanding his wife's ill wishes. "Um… tell her I love her?"

"Good answer," Guinevere replies, and begins to retreat back into the room. "Oh… despite what you hear, Norma assures me that things are going very well." She smiles and begins to close the door.

"Guinevere," Arthur blurts, taking a step towards her. He doesn't actually have anything to say, but her name sprung from his lips nevertheless.

She stops, says, "I'm fine, Arthur." Then she blows him a kiss and disappears.

"Come on, let's put these back," Gwaine says, tapping Arthur's pole with his before walking over to the tapestries that are now hanging unevenly.

Hours pass. Gwaine tells Arthur about his homeland and travels. Arthur tells Gwaine about growing up with Uther as a father and no one as a mother. It's not something he talks about often, but with both men having children on the way – one immediately – it seemed like an appropriate topic.

"It's amazing you turned out as good as you did, mate," Gwaine observes, clearly not worrying about insulting his king by speaking ill of his father.

Arthur snorts. "Well, I'm glad to hear you think I'm good," he says. More troubling sounds come from inside the room, and they both look up and stare at the doors for a few seconds. When the groaning stops, and it is not followed by the sound of a baby crying, they breathe again. "And I think you know that Uther cannot be given much credit."

"Oh, I think he can be given some, but not in the way you might think," Gwaine says. "He was a good example of what _not_ to do."

"True," Arthur allows.

There is another groan, longer than the previous.

"That was fast," Gwaine observes. Then there is another. And another.

"Morgana was never one to let her discomfort go unnoticed," Arthur says, chuckling.

Gwaine grins. "She's pretty loud when we—"

Arthur holds his hands up. "Don't want to know," he interjects. "She is my cousin, you know."

"Right. I—"

This time, Gwaine is interrupted by a groan that crescendos into a yell. Then there is silence.

Then the unmistakable wail of an infant pierces the night.

Arthur and Gwaine look at each other, and Gwaine leaps to his feet. Arthur grabs his arm and pulls him back down.

"You won't be able to go in right away," Arthur says.

"How do you know?" Gwaine asks. "How many births have you attended?"

"I got to see a horse in foal once, when I was a boy. They don't exactly come out… clean," he Arthur answers.

"My baby is not a horse," Gwaine retorts.

"Certainly hope not," Arthur says, laughing. "All I'm saying is—"

The door creaks open, and a tired-looking Guinevere appears. Gwaine and Arthur both stand. Morgana's maid scuttles out behind Guinevere, likely gone to fetch Gaius.

"Everyone is healthy and well," she says.

"Is it a boy or girl?" Gwaine asks.

Guinevere bites her lip and answers, "Morgana asked me not to tell you. You'll be able to come in soon though."

Gwaine scowls, but nods. He plops back down on the bench when Guinevere closes the door again.

"How soon is soon?" Gwaine asks Arthur.

"You're asking me?" Arthur replies.

Eira returns with Gaius, and Merlin is with them.

"We can't go in yet," Gwaine says, still pouting.

"I will check, my lord," Eira says, and goes inside.

A minute later, Guinevere and Eira both re-emerge. "Gwaine, you may go in," Guinevere says. She and Eira stay out in the corridor to give them some privacy.

"Guinevere," Arthur reaches for her. "You must be exhausted."

"I am," she answers, sitting beside him. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and she leans against him. "But I am very glad I was there. It was amazing, Arthur. Truly."

"You aren't worried?" he asks.

"No. If anything, it set some of my fears to rest. Yes, Morgana was in a fair amount of pain, but… the rewards…" Guinevere says, trailing off. She reaches up and wipes her eyes.

Arthur kisses the top of her head. "I wish I could be there for you when our time comes," he whispers into her hair.

"I know, Love," she agrees. "But I don't think Norma will be very amenable, king or no. She is very strict."

"Is the baby a boy or a girl?" he asks after a few quiet moments.

She sits up and sees that Merlin and Gaius are looking on with great interest as well. Apparently Eira hadn't told them, either.

"Boy," Guinevere says. "I do not know the name yet. Morgana said she and Gwaine had several options and wanted to see what the child looked like before choosing the name."

"All babies look kind of the same though," Merlin volunteers, and Guinevere looks up at him, her expression incredulous. "What? They do."

"I'll remember you said that should you ever take a wife and have a child," Gaius drily comments, and they all laugh. "If I'm still alive by the time that happens," he adds, raising a bushy eyebrow at his great-nephew, and Merlin's ears turn bright red.

The doors open again, and this time it is Norma who greets them. "Sire, my lady? Lady Morgana is asking for you. Eira, you may come back in as well," she says, then steps aside to let them in.

Arthur and Guinevere hear Norma briefly chatting with Gaius as they walk towards the bed where Gwaine has settled next to Morgana and their son.

"Come meet your new cousin," Morgana says, smiling at them.

"By the gods, Morgana, you look like you're ready to hold court," Arthur comments, noting how she looks as beautiful as always. "Based on the sounds we were hearing, I was expecting to see you looking tired and bedraggled…" he trails off, shaking his head.

"Well, I am exhausted," Morgana lightly says, adjusting the bundle in her arms as Arthur and Guinevere come closer. "Allow me to present Mordred Padraig."

Arthur leans down, getting a closer look. "Hello," he says, gently touching a soft cheek with his finger. He moves to the side so Guinevere can see the baby.

"He has a lot of hair," she comments. "And so dark, though there's no mystery in that," she adds with a smile.

"Would you like to hold him?" Morgana asks. "Get some practice in?"

"I would love to," Guinevere says, reaching down to carefully scoop the newborn into her arms. She immediately starts swaying side to side and making little cooing noises.

"She's a natural," Gwaine comments. "Not surprising actually."

"No?" Guinevere asks, shifting her attention from Mordred to Gwaine.

"You're very nurturing," Gwaine explains, and Morgana nods beside him.

"He's right, Love," Arthur says. "I have no doubt that you will be an excellent mother."

"Me, on the other hand…" Morgana says, laughing.

"Oh no, that's not what I meant at all!" Arthur exclaims. "I know you will also be an excellent mother, Morgana. Honest."

"Really?" she asks.

"Yes, _a rúnsearc_ ," Gwaine agrees, leaning over to kiss her shoulder. "You will be different kinds of mothers though. You'll be more like a mother bear: fierce and protective, teaching by example, while the queen will be like… a mother duck."

"A duck?" Guinevere asks, giggling. Mordred begins to fuss, so she hands him back to Morgana.

"Yes, a duck. Nurturing, with a gentle guiding hand," Gwaine explains, and Guinevere sees Arthur thoughtfully nodding beside her. "Keeping all your ducklings in line, but with no qualms about pushing them to fly when the time is right," he adds with an impish smile.

The queen smiles. "Ducks don't have hands," she says, with a giggle, and soon they are all laughing except the new baby, who is beginning to squeak and squall even more.

"Excuse me, my lady, but it appears the young lordling is growing hungry. Perhaps we should let Gaius quickly examine him before his first feeding?" Norma quietly interrupts them.

"Of course," Morgana says. "I had hoped to let Arthur hold him, but I guess it will have to be another time."

"You can let me practice on your son tomorrow," Arthur says with a grin and a nod. "It is very late, and Guinevere needs her rest."

"Gwaine," Guinevere says, turning back as they are on their way out. "What was that you called Morgana?"

Gwaine smiles and looks down at his hands, uncharacteristically bashful for a second. " _A rúnsearc._ It basically means… beloved."

Guinevere smiles. "That's lovely," she replies, then takes Arthur's hand and walks out with him.

xXx

"How was it?" Arthur asks Guinevere once they are in bed.

"Educational," she answers at length. "Scary. Exhilarating. Messy. Magical."

"All those things?" he asks, looking down at her.

"And more besides," she replies, meeting his gaze. He kisses her, then tightens his arms around her, holding her closer.

"I was worried. For both of you. I know Morgana is strong, but the sounds that were coming from the room…"

"She was very determined. Agravaine told her that her mother pushed for the better part of a day, and she was resolute in, as she said, 'getting this child out of me before the weather turns cold.' I'm not sure I agree that Agravaine should have told Morgana this information, but I can't say I'm surprised," Guinevere says.

"He's never been known for being tactful," Arthur replies. "Did someone send a messenger? I'm sure he would like to know that he is a grandfather."

"Morgana said it could wait until morning. Gwaine will take care of it," she answers.

"He'll probably come and stay a few days," Arthur sighs.

Guinevere groans and curls into her husband. "Don't want to think about that."

"Get some sleep," he says. "And sleep as long as you need. There is nothing going on tomorrow morning that cannot wait."

She nods, already half asleep.

"And no waking me up in the middle of the night either," he adds, kissing the top of her head.


	13. Chapter 13

" _If I know what love is, it is because of you." -Hermann Hesse_

"Guinevere, you should be resting," Arthur says as his wife meets him in the courtyard. He has just returned from hunting with some of the men.

"I do not always need to be resting, Arthur," Guinevere replies, lifting up on tiptoe to kiss him. He reaches down and tenderly runs a hand over her belly, now quite visibly swollen. "The baby is not due for another three months."

He wraps his arm around her and they begin walking inside. "Why aren't you wearing a cloak?" he asks. "It's rather chilly out."

"Your child keeps me warm all the time now," trying not to sound too exasperated with him. His protective nature has gradually increased as her pregnancy has progressed, and while she understands that it comes from a good place, it is beginning to wear on her. She sees some servants carrying the two deer they killed on their hunt, and says, "Looks like your hunt was successful."

"Yes, it was. And I do not like the idea of you being out in the cold air un-cloaked," he presses, avoiding her attempt to change the subject.

"Yes, my lord," she answers, deciding to hold her tongue for the moment.

Arthur looks sideways down at her, wondering why she suddenly reverted to addressing him by title. She hasn't done so – not in any manner other than jest – in some time.

They enter the royal chambers, Merlin bustling in after them with a tray. Arthur escorts Guinevere to a chair.

"Do you need anything?" he asks. "Shall I send Sefa to fetch you some food? Would you like a pillow, or a footrest?"

"I am perfectly fine," she answers.

"You're certain?" he asks. She nods, then he heads to the screen to change into fresh garments for the rest of the day

"Arthur," she calls, knowing what his response will be before she even speaks, "I would like to go to the marketplace. I haven't been there in a while and I should like to see the late harvest wares."

Arthur's head pops out from behind the changing screen. "I don't think that is a wise idea," he answers.

 _Well, it wasn't a flat "No"._ She takes a deep breath. "I already asked Sir Gwaine _and_ Sir Bors to accompany me this afternoon."

She cringes slightly when she hears a slight scuffle behind the screen. Clearly Arthur's reaction to her words caused some sort of tangle or trouble. Arthur stumbles into view with only one arm in a sleeve of his shirt. "What?" he asks.

She stands, and Merlin quickly adjusts the king's shirt before tactfully disappearing. "Arthur," she says, "I am going to the marketplace." Her voice is steadier and more confident than she actually feels. This is the first time she's truly disagreed with him. Her heart is racing, and her palms are sweaty, but she needs to do this. She is beginning to feel trapped inside the castle.

Arthur's face seems to struggle with itself for a few moments, and she can see he is trying very hard to not simply forbid her from going, though he very much wishes to. "I would prefer it if you did not," he finally says, his voice slightly strained. "I want you to rest. You do not need to strain yourself."

"Walking is not straining myself," she says. "Neither is attending Council meetings or seeing audiences in the throne room with you," she adds, her voice growing stronger. "I am not entering a tournament, Arthur. I just need to get out of this castle for a short time. I am growing mad with boredom."

"I do no not think you should go," he flatly says. "You asked, and I—"

"I did not ask, Arthur," she interjects.

He blinks, surprised. "No… no, you didn't ask," he echoes, not sure how he feels about this. He wants her to have her own mind and be independent, but he's just so worried about her health. And the baby's health. "But—"

She kisses his cheek. "I will be fine," she says, trying to sound reassuring. Then she walks to her wardrobe, pointedly takes her cloak, and exits, leaving him dumbfounded, staring at the doors.

xXx

Guinevere returns from the marketplace to find Arthur scowling at a parchment. He sharply looks up when she enters, followed by the two knights, but says nothing. Gwaine and Bors set the queen's purchases on the long table, and then Gwaine, sensing the king's mood, nearly pushes Bors out of the room in front of him.

"I found quite a few things for the baby," she says, slowly walking towards him. He says nothing. "I also bought a loaf of that honey oat bread you so liked last time. I thought we could have it with our supper."

He looks up at her, his face nearly unreadable. But she can tell he is unhappy. Possibly angry.

"Arthur…"

"Don't," he says, holding up his hand. "I asked you not to go, and you went anyway. I… I cannot… I _will_ not forbid you from doing, well, anything, but… but it felt like you did not take my wishes… my _feelings_ on the matter into consideration at all."

"I am sorry I hurt you, Arthur," she replies, folding her hands together over her stomach. "But I will not be sorry for going to the market, for I did nothing wrong in doing so."

Confused, he opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again and says, "You defied my wishes."

She furrows her brows. "Defied?" she repeats. "That's a bit strong, don't you think? We had a difference of opinion over a small matter."

He pushes away from his desk and stands, running his hand through his hair. "The fact that I didn't want you to go… that I am so _worried_ about your well-being right now…" He exhales heavily, facing away from her. "I don't think I'm really upset that you went, but it felt like… it felt like you didn't care about my concern for you."

She walks up to him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder blade. "Of course I care about your concern, Love," she says. "But… if I am being completely honest, your concern has been unnecessarily…" she pauses, looking for the right word. She wishes to make her point without further upsetting him.

"Overbearing?" he quietly supplies.

"A little," she agrees, but quickly adds, "Do not misunderstand; I love that you are taking such a strong interest in my pregnancy. But I do not need to be pampered and treated like I am made of glass. In fact, Norma says I _should_ remain as active as _I_ feel I can be. If I am tired, I will rest. If I am hungry, I will eat. It is healthy for me and for our child to continue on with as many of my duties as I feel I am able. It is healthier for both of us than lying about like a slug all day."

Arthur says nothing for a long minute, staring out of the window. "My mother died in childbirth," he quietly says.

Guinevere's hand drops. She did not know this. Everyone was told that Queen Igraine died of illness a week after Arthur's birth. Suddenly, her husband's overprotectiveness snaps into crystal clear focus. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't—"

He turns around, and she is surprised to see his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "No one knows. Gaius and I are the only ones yet living who know. Father, Gaius, and mother's maid are the only others."

She takes his hands. "How?" she asks, pulling him to the bench near the fire.

"She had an accident. Fell down a flight of stairs. Her… her foot tangled in her skirts and she fell. According to the midwife, I wasn't due for another month, but the fall… it…"

Guinevere nods, understanding. Norma had mentioned that trauma can sometimes trigger labor. "You were born early," she says.

Arthur nods. "They couldn't stop the bleeding," he continues. "Father said – he told me this when I was 16, and he was very drunk at the time – that her last words were, 'Stop… Tell my son every day that I love him.' She told them to stop trying to save her." His voice breaks on the last sentence.

"She also told them that she loved you. You were minutes old, and she loved you," Guinevere whispers.

"He never told me though; not that I can remember. Well, I think Gaius did, in subtle ways, but Father…" He shakes his head. "To this day I do not understand why he felt the need to hide the accident. There's no shame in it."

Guinevere had been wondering the same thing: why was death by illness acceptable but not a simple accident? "How was he able to keep it a secret? Did no one see the fall?"

Arthur slowly shakes his head. "According to Gaius, they were alone when it happened. On their way to their chambers to retire for the evening. Father carried her to the bed, and sent her maid to fetch the midwife and Gaius," he explains.

"So you have spoken with Gaius about it then. That was going to be my next question," she says.

He nods. "I sought him out the morning after my father's drunken confession, to get confirmation if nothing else. He was relieved to learn I had been told the truth, despite the circumstances."

"I am so sorry, Arthur. Now that I understand where your concern for my health and safety comes from, it makes more sense," she says.

"I should have told you sooner," he replies. "But I didn't want to worry you."

"Well, it wasn't the nicest thing to learn, but… it was an accident," she says. "They happen. Something could just as easily happen to you," she points out. "More so, in fact, now that I think about it. Each time you go out to deal with a dispute, or… pick up a sword, or even off to hunt, like this morning, I know there is a chance you may not return."

He suddenly pulls her into his arms, holding her closely. "Oh, Guinevere, I never thought about that," he says, his voice soft and impassioned. "So this feeling I have… this worry, this dread… this is how you feel when I go away?"

"I imagine it is fairly similar," she answers, turning her head to kiss his neck.

"I knew you likely worried about me, but…"

She moves and kisses his lips. "Do not trouble yourself about it, Love. It is your job as King to sometimes go away and place yourself in harm's way. Yes, I worry, but that is only because I love you."

He kisses her in return, a bit longer, and says, "Exactly."

xXx

"Come now, Kay, it's not that cold out," Arthur says, shaking his head at the shivering young knight. "There will be times when you will have to put aside your personal discomfort. Your life, the lives of innocent people, may depend on it." Winter has fully fallen over Camelot, and the temperatures have fallen accodingly.

"Yes, Sire," Kay nods, and straightens his hunched shoulders.

"Good. Now…" he continues, beginning his instructions to the newest potential knights.

Arthur is so engrossed in his lecture, he doesn't notice Sefa hurrying towards the training fields. The handmaiden is still a little shy around the king, and when she sees him engrossed with his men, she heads for Merlin, who is sitting nearby, sharpening swords.

She whispers a few words to him, and he immediately heads for Arthur, having no problem at all with interrupting him in the middle of training.

"My lord," he says, standing behind him.

The king either does not hear, or ignores him.

Merlin loudly clears his throat. "Sire," he tries, louder.

"One moment, Merlin," Arthur says, barely turning his head.

Merlin sighs, gives Sefa an exasperated look, then yells, "Arthur!"

Arthur spins around. "What _is_ it that is so bloody important, Merlin?" he testily asks.

"Forgive me, Sire, but I thought you would want to be informed that your wife is having your baby," Merlin says, nearly as testily.

"Well, yes, thank you, Merlin, _everyone_ knows tha—" His jaw goes slack and his eyes widen. "You mean she's _having_ the baby. Now."

"Yes," Merlin sighs. "Sefa is going to fetch the midwife."

"I'll go," Gwaine volunteers, stepping forward. "I will be able to bring her back faster," he says, already striding away. He intercepts a knight heading out on patrol, commandeers his horse, and gallops away, leaving everyone staring after him. Especially the knight from whom he took the horse.

"Sire," Merlin prompts his stunned master.

"Right," Arthur says. He shakes his head, and takes off towards the castle at a brisk rate. Merlin and Sefa hurry to follow him. "Who is with the queen?" he asks.

"Lady Morgana, my lord," Sefa answers. "Gaius has been told, but he merely said to summon him if there are problems."

Arthur nods and breaks into a run.

He reaches the royal chambers well ahead of Merlin and Sefa. He knows Norma will banish him to the corridor as soon as she arrives, so he wants to be with his wife for as long as he can.

"Arthur," Guinevere breathes his name, her face breaking into a weak smile when she sees him. She is already in bed and dressed in a simple white linen shift. He rushes towards her, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her.

"Are you all right?" he asks, resting his forehead against hers.

"Yes, I'm fine," she answers.

"Didn't Norma say she didn't think the baby would come for a few more weeks?" he asks, lifting his head and sitting beside her on the bed.

"Yes, but she _also_ says that she can only guess. Babies arrive on their schedule, not ours," Guinevere answers as Merlin and Sefa arrive. Merlin hangs near the doorway, unsure, and Arthur dismisses him with a wave.

"This is very true," Morgana chimes in, smiling down at the squirming bundle in her arms. "Sometimes they are later than expected," she adds, lifting little Mordred up, and Arthur waves to him, "and sometimes they are earlier."

Guinevere smiles at the baby, but it quickly falls, and she reaches for Arthur's hand. She squeezes it as a contraction tightens her midsection.

"All right, Love?" he asks.

"Yes… it's not too bad yet," she says. "Mainly uncomfortable."

"They aren't coming too quickly yet," Morgana says. "When the pains come closer together, that means it is almost time."

"Ah," Arthur dumbly answers, feeling a bit out of his depth. He kisses Guinevere's hand and asks, "What were you doing when… you know… it happened?"

"When my waters broke?" she asks, eyebrows rising in mild amusement. He nods and she says, "I was talking with Morgana. I stood and was going to go down to the kitchens when I felt a sudden wetness." She pauses, biting her lower lip, unsure how much her husband actually wants to know.

"Go on," he says, looking very interested.

"I just stopped mid-sentence, and Morgana asked me if something was wrong," she continues.

"I had an inkling," Morgana supplies.

"I said to her, 'I'm suddenly very wet.'"

"Was there a… a puddle?" Arthur asks.

Morgana laughs, and Guinevere shushes her. "No, it's not like that at all," she says. "It wasn't like I… soiled myself. There wasn't enough to make a puddle, but it was definitely noticeable."

There is a knock and the doors open just at the tail end of Guinevere's words. "Ah, the king is getting an education, I see," Norma says, turning to bolt the door before moving further into the room.

Arthur gets up to leave, but Norma waves him back. "I can stay?" he asks.

"For a little while, and I'm _only_ making that exception because the queen is very young and you are the king," she says. "However, you will need to step into the adjoining room for a moment while I examine her to see how she is progressing, Sire," she adds.

"Of course," he replies with a nod. He kisses Guinevere on the cheek and walks away from the bed. Morgana follows him with an increasingly fussy Mordred.

"He needs to be fed and put down for his nap," Morgana explains. "I will be back, so make sure you let me in." Then she lightly pecks Arthur's cheek and says, "Everything will be fine, Cousin."

"I know," Arthur answers.

"Tell that to your face," Morgana retorts with a grin.

Arthur can't stop the laugh that escapes. "Thank you," he says, unlocking the doors for her.

She smiles and disappears.

"Sire, you may return," Norma calls, and Arthur quickly walks back in.

"Arthur…" Guinevere reaches out for his hand, which she immediately squeezes as another contraction comes.

"I'm here, Love," he replies, marveling at the strength in her hand clenched around his. Once she relaxes her grip, he quickly pulls his feet from his boots, then helps her sit up a bit as he slides behind her.

"This is nice," Guinevere says, leaning against his back, nestled between his legs.

"The queen is about halfway there," Norma tells him. "It will be some time yet before she will be able to push."

xXx

Arthur was dismissed just over two hours later, banished to the corridor. Gwaine and Merlin were waiting for him.

An hour after that, during which Arthur picked at and Gwaine heartily ate some food Merlin brought, the sound of a baby's cry split the evening quiet.

Arthur jumps up and heads to the doors, but stops halfway, remembering he won't be able to go in just yet.

Inside, Guinevere is exhausted but relieved it's finally over. She watches while Norma quickly cleans and wraps the babe. "The king may come back in now," she says, handing the bundle to Guinevere.

"I'll fetch him," Morgana says.

Seconds later, Arthur comes jogging in, skidding to a stop three feet from the bed. All he can see is his beautiful wife holding a bundle of blankets. Then a little fist breaks free. "Oh…" he breathes.

"Arthur, come meet your daughter," Guinevere says, noticing that Norma and Sefa have exited to give them privacy.

"D… daughter?" he repeats, coming closer. He sits on the bed.

She nods and angles the baby so he can see her. They both stare down at her for a few long, quiet moments. When Arthur continues to be silent, Guinevere quietly stammers, "I… I am sorry, Arthur."

Arthur is engrossed in gazing at his daughter, already loving her scrunched little face. _She has her mother's lips._ Then Guinevere's words sink in and he lifts his head and gives her a very confused look. "You're sorry? For what?" he asks.

"I gave you a daughter," she explains.

"Yes, and she is as beautiful as you are," he answers. "But I still do not know why you are apologizing."

"I gave you a daughter, not an heir," she clarifies.

Arthur kisses her, then leans down and kisses his daughter's forehead. "Yes, you did," he corrects, then kisses her again. "She will be my heir."

"You mean…"

"I am King, am I not? Just because something has always been done a certain way is no reason to continue doing it that way. Especially if that thing is stupid," he says. She giggles, and he adds, "Honoring tradition is one thing; continuing to honor traditions that make no sense is foolishness."

"And being bold enough to break traditions and create new ones will be something for which you will always be remembered," she adds.

He inclines his head in agreement. "Perhaps, but that is not why I am doing this," he says.

Guinevere smiles at him. "I love you, my king," she says, kissing him.

"And I love you, my queen, my wife, mother of my child," Arthur replies, kissing her between each title. He smoothes her unruly curls away from her face. "How do you feel?" he asks.

"Hungry," she immediately answers.

xXx

Morgana and Gwaine are cooing over the new princess by the time Sefa returns with food for the queen. Gaius is with her, wishing to examine the baby.

"Let's see this princess," the old physician says, lifting her from Morgana's arms. "Oh, she's a little doll," he adds.

"Six and a half pounds," Norma informs. "Not the chunky dumpling little Lord Mordred was, but given that the princess is a tad early, it is quite good."

"What is her name, Sire?" Gaius asks as he checks the baby over.

"Aedre Igraine," Arthur says.

Gaius looks up. "A surprising and lovely choice, my lord," he says, then returns his attention to little Aedre.

"Aedre means 'stream'," Gwaine says, a mischievous smirk on his face. He is one of only a few people who has figured out why the king and queen chose that particular name.

"Yes, I know," Gaius comments, clearly not understanding the reason behind the name but deciding it is not his place to ask. He bundles the wiggling baby back up. "The princess appears to be in perfect health," he says, passing her to Arthur, who takes her with practiced care (thanks to Mordred). "Though it seems she may be getting hungry."

Arthur kisses his daughter's soft cheeks and says, "Thank you, Gaius."

xXx

Guinevere wakes sore and groggy the next morning. She scrunches into the blankets, her hand automatically reaching out for her husband, and finds she is alone.

She opens her eyes and sees the curtains closed around the bed, which means it is much later than it should be.

"Arthur?" she calls. Then, "Sefa?"

The soft patter of footsteps tells her that it is her maid, not her husband, rushing to her bedside.

A curtain is drawn back and Sefa appears. "My lady, the king insisted—"

Wincing, Guinevere sits up. "It's all right. Where is Aedre? She probably needs to be fed." Guinevere was up and down all night, feeding her daughter, but she found she didn't mind so much and does not regret her choice to nurse her own child, once again defying tradition.

"She is with Alice, getting changed. She will be brought to you presently. The king did not want you to be disturbed any more than necessary, my lady," Sefa explains.

"And where is the king?" Guinevere asks. There is a quiet knock on the doors, and she nods at Sefa.

"I do not know, my lady, but I do not believe he has left the castle," Sefa says, then goes to the doors. She returns a moment later with the nursemaid, Alice, and the princess.

"There's my girl," Guinevere says, reaching for her daughter. "Oh, you are more beautiful this morning," she declares, leaning down to kiss her.

"The princess has been changed, and she is ready to be fed, my lady," Alice informs.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Guinevere asks Aedre as the princess hungrily latches on and begins nursing. "Yes, you are a good eater, aren't you, my duckling?"

"Duckling?" Arthur's voice reaches their ears, and Sefa and Alice both wheel around, curtsey, then step out of the way.

"Um, I don't know if you remember…" Guinevere begins to explain.

"Of course I do," Arthur answers, coming into view. "Gwaine said you would be like a mother duck when Mordred was born."

She smiles. "You do remember."

He sits on the bed beside her, then leans over and kisses his daughter. "She's beautiful. Like her mother."

"I think she's going to have your blonde hair," Guinevere says, smoothing her hand over Aedre's wispy hair, curling this way and that on her head.

"Perhaps, but with your curls," Arthur assesses.

She sees he has a scroll in his hand, and asks, "What is that?"

"I've been with Geoffrey this morning, drafting a proclamation," he says.

"Announcing the birth of the princess?" she asks.

"Announcing the new law I am enacting that will abolish the long-standing tradition of heirs only being allowed to be male," Arthur says, opening it and holding it up for her to read. "Geoffrey is writing the birth announcement right now," he adds. "I do not need to personally write that."

Guinevere reads the proclamation with a smile on her face even as her eyes mist over with tears. "Did you do this for me?" she quietly asks.

"I did this for everyone," he answers, kissing her. "But mainly you. Well, mainly _her_ , but you are a close second," he amends.

She kisses him back. "Thank you," she whispers.

"You're very welcome, my love," he replies. "Perhaps this will encourage Cameliard to change its ways as well."

She looks down at the princess and says, "If I had been heir to the throne, I would not be here now, with you. And her."

He kisses her temple and says, "I know."

"I think I prefer it this way, to be honest. I never had any desire to rule Cameliard," she says. After a beat, she adds, "Of course, if I had been raised differently…"

"Exactly," Arthur agrees. "If you were heir, you would have been raised to rule, not raised to be my wife and nothing else." He settles further onto the bed. "I mean it all worked out in the end…"

Guinevere switches Aedre to her other breast, then strokes her soft cheek. "Yes. But not everyone is as fortunate," she says.

"Of course," he replies. "And I have absolutely no intention of brokering a marriage for our daughter. It's just too… terrifying."

She chuckles. "Good." Then she looks up at him. "Did you propose this change to the Council?"

He lightly shrugs. "No. I'm not bothering with it. My mind is made up and you agree, so that is all I need."

"Is that allowed?"

"If there is one thing I learned from my father, it's that being King does have its privileges. You don't want to know how many things he just… barreled through, completely bypassing or outright ignoring the Council," Arthur says.

"You're right; I don't," Guinevere agrees. She sighs and returns her head to his shoulder. "I need to write to Elyan," she says after a minute.

"I can do it if you wish," he offers.

"Thank you," she answers.

The king and queen fall quiet again, simply watching their daughter nurse until she falls asleep in her mother's arms.


	14. Chapter 14

_The best thing to hold onto in life is each other. -Audrey Hepburn_

The news of Princess Aedre's birth was cause for much celebration in Camelot. The castle was swamped with gifts for the new princess, and gifts were even sent from other kingdoms. King Elyan even paid a personal visit to meet his new niece.

The princess is doted on but not spoiled. Arthur and Guinevere take care to spend as much time as possible with her, not wanting her to feel as though she was raised by her nursemaid, like Arthur, or be made to feel unimportant, like Guinevere.

And the queen's choice to nurse her child herself raised more than one eyebrow in court, but one stern look from the king set those brows back in place, at least publicly. He completely supported and agreed with his wife's wishes, and quite firmly informed several older men in court that their opinions were not requested and the issue was not their business anyway.

When Aedre turned a year old, more gifts arrived. The entire kingdom was charmed by their dusky-skinned princess with her dark gold ringlets and surprising blue eyes. Her mouth seemed to form a permanent Cupid's bow pout, an expression clearly inherited from her father, but with the lush, full lips of her mother.

Come spring, she has almost perfected walking, and Arthur puts a small, lightweight wooden sword in her tiny hand.

"Arthur, really…" Guinevere says, biting back her smile.

"What? We discussed this, Guinevere," he replies. "You were in complete agreement that she should train."

"Yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of when she was at least old enough to fully understand what you are saying to her," she counters. Aedre loses her balance and falls with a _plop_ onto her padded backside. Guinevere looks at her daughter, then pointedly looks at her husband. "She has only _just_ learned to walk."

"I'm just getting her used to the feel of a sword in her hand, that's all," Arthur says, going over to place Aedre on her feet again. She hits him with the sword. "Ow!" he exclaims, mainly out of surprise, and Aedre immediately starts crying and drops the sword. He scoops her up and cuddles her, saying, "Shh, Duckling, it's all right… Papa isn't hurt, I promise." He kisses her cheeks and forehead repeatedly and continues cuddling and rocking her until she calms down again.

Guinevere walks over and kisses Arthur's cheek. "You're so good with her," she says, gently prying Aedre's fingers open where they have closed around a lock of her hair. "I know you will train her well. When it is _time_."

"Perhaps it is a little early," he allows. "And we don't even know which hand she will favor yet."

Guinevere blinks. _Is it possible this is something I do not know about Camelot?_ "You would allow her to use her left hand if that is what she favors?"

"Well, yes. Is that not done in Cameliard?" he asks. He knows this is the case in many kingdoms.

"Not among nobles. My mother would have been left-handed, but Grandfather would not have that 'embarrassment' in the family," she answers. "I am mainly shocked that I did not already know this about the kingdom. I thought I had learned everything."

Arthur smiles and kisses her. Aedre begins fussing and reaching for her mother. "Someone is hungry," he says, and passes the princess to Guinevere. "My father was left-handed, Guinevere," he adds, watching as she walks to her favorite spot to nurse, by the window.

"Was he? I can't honestly say I ever noticed," she replies. "Of course, I did avoid him as much as I could."

Arthur laughs, and a knock sounds at the doors. He goes to answer it instead of just bidding the visitor enter, since Guinevere is nursing the princess uncovered. He cracks the door open to see Merlin standing there.

"Merlin," Arthur says.

"Arthur," Merlin cheekily replies.

The king sighs and says, "What is it? The princess is being fed right now, so…"

"I know," Merlin answers. He knows Aedre's schedule as well as he knows the king's, and even so, he would have figured it out by the fact that he is speaking to his master through a one-foot opening in the doors. "A message has just arrived from Cameliard." He hands the scroll to Arthur.

"Thank you," Arthur answers, taking the parchment. "I think Guinevere and I will take dinner up here this evening," he says, wishing for some alone time with his wife.

"Very good, Sire," Merlin says, then walks away.

Arthur opens the scroll as he walks back to Guinevere.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Your brother is getting married," he answers. "In a month."

"Oh, good. Nice of him to wait for warmer weather, too," she answers. Elyan has been courting Annis and Caerleon's youngest daughter, Sophia, for a short time, and apparently Caerleon has finally given his consent to allow them to wed.

"About time Caerleon stopped dragging his feet," Arthur agrees. "Honestly, I don't know why he was dallying. Elyan is building Cameliard into a strong kingdom, and Caerleon can use more firm allies." He sets the parchment down and adds, "He can be a bit… prickly."

"That is a very diplomatic was of putting it," Guinevere replies, chuckling. She quite likes Queen Annis, but found King Caerleon to be somewhat gruff and standoffish, almost to the point of being unfriendly. "Sophia is their youngest, so perhaps the thought of marrying her off was making him feel his age."

"If you're suggesting Caerleon experiences _emotions,_ I've got news for you…" Arthur says, raising an eyebrow.

She snorts and counters, "Of course he does. Annis once told me he is a different man when they are alone."

"He would have to be to convince her to bear six of his children."

"Arthur!" Guinevere exclaims, laughing despite herself. Aedre seems to be done feeding, so she lifts her onto her shoulder and begins patting her back.

"I can do that," Arthur volunteers, casually tossing a cloth onto his shoulder. Guinevere passes the princess to her father.

"Thank you," she says, setting her bodice to rights, smiling as she watches Arthur quietly talking to their daughter as he strolls around the room, patting her back.

xXx

The party leaving Camelot is good sized, consisting of Arthur, Guinevere, Aedre, Morgana, Gwaine, Mordred, and Sir Leon and his new wife. Lord Agravaine joined them when they passed Ascetir, and with Merlin, Sefa, Eira, Alice, and several other servants in tow, they made quite a scene entering Cameliard.

Elyan and Sophia greet them in the castle courtyard, immediately fussing and cooing over the children.

"She is walking now?" Elyan exclaims, watching his niece run around on the cobblestones with Mordred. Both toddlers are quite happy to be out of the wagon in which they were riding with their nursemaids.

"Yes, and getting quite good at it," Guinevere replies, catching her daughter and scooping her up. "Aedre, can you say hello to your Uncle Elyan?"

Aedre shakes her head and hides her face in her mother's neck, causing Elyan to laugh. "It's all right," he says. "I'm just some strange man to her right now. She'll come to know me with time."

"Hello, Uncle Elyan!" a small voice says from the vicinity of the King of Cameliard's knees.

He looks down. "Hello," he answers. "Lord Mordred, I presume?" he asks, extending his hand.

"Mordred, King Elyan is not your uncle," Morgana says, stepping forward as her son puts his hand in Elyan's.

"He may call me 'Uncle' if he likes," Elyan says, reaching down to ruffle the boy's tousled black hair. Mordred smiles up at Elyan.

"That is very kind of you," Morgana says.

"Well, my lady, I hope you don't mind my saying, but I have come to think of you and Sir Gwaine as family," Elyan says.

"I don't mind at all, and we feel the same, Sire," she replies with a smile.

"Come, I will show you to your rooms. I imagine you would like to freshen up before dinner," he says. He feels a small hand slip into his and looks down, surprised to see that it is his niece who has favored him. "Oh! You honor me, princess," he exclaims, grinning at her.

"Unko," Aedre quietly says. "Walk."

xXx

Dinner is delicious and noisy, attended by everyone from Camelot, plus Sophia's family from Caerleon. Guinevere had met Annis and Caerleon before, but not since her marriage to Arthur. Annis seemed very pleased with the younger queen's growth into a poised young woman. She was also completely charmed by Aedre and Mordred. Aedre was so fascinated by Annis' red hair that she climbed up into her lap just to get a closer look at it.

After dinner, the children are tucked into bed and the men head off to celebrate King Elyan's last night of bachelorhood. There is no official celebration for the women, but somehow several of them find their way to Annis' rooms, visiting and sharing stories.

When Annis comments that Guinevere has truly blossomed since she saw her as a girl, Morgana lets it slip about Uther's influence on her upbringing.

"What did he do?" Sophia asks, eyes wide.

Morgana looks at Guinevere, who nods once and gestures to her cousin. Morgana tells them how Uther planned to mold Guinevere into the "perfect wife" for Arthur and how he sent his former mistress away to play tutor.

Annis purses her lips for a moment, clearly weighing her response with great care. Finally, she exhales heavily and says, "It is bad luck to speak ill of the dead."

"But…?" Morgana presses, itching to know what the wise queen has to say about her late uncle.

Queen Annis looks at the ceiling, then says, "Uther Pendragon was a self-centered idiot. I am amazed that young Arthur turned out as well as he did."

"You can likely thank his nursemaid for that, poor thing," Morgana replies with a laugh.

"He favors his mother, I think," Guinevere softly says. "In more than just his appearance." When Annis nods, Guinevere asks, "Did you know Queen Igraine, my lady?"

"I did," Annis answers. "And you are correct. Igraine was a kind and gentle soul. Extraordinarily thoughtful and kind. The people loved her. Everyone did." She sighs. "The Uther you knew was not quite the Uther she married. I think… when she died… something broke inside of him."

True to form, Morgana says what others will not, even if they are thinking it. "I used to think that, but I'm not so sure anymore," she says, standing to move near the window. "I think it is a convenient excuse for his cold-hearted demeanor. The tyrant was always lurking under the surface." She shakes her head. "If Gwaine died, I would be devastated. But I would never be so… selfish as to allow my grief to turn me cruel and power-hungry. Those qualities were in him from the beginning."

Guinevere nods. "I have a difficult time finding sympathy for a man who could have very easily ruined my life," she says. "But he was Arthur's father, and Arthur did love him."

"Didn't always _like_ him though," Morgana replies.

"Judging by the number of things Arthur is changing in Camelot under his rule, I daresay you are correct," Annis agrees. "Changing for the better, I should add. I understand your little princess is heir to the throne?" she asks, looking at Guinevere.

"Yes," she answers. "He's also allowed commoners to petition to become knights, completely restructured the tax system, cleaned up some of the less desirable areas of the town, and is not going to arrange a marriage for Aedre the way our fathers did for us."

"That's quite a lot," Sophia comments. Then she furrows her brow. "Are you not happy in your marriage, my lady?" she asks, confused.

"Oh, I am," Guinevere answers. "But I understand your confusion. Arthur and I have discussed this at length. We are both very happy, but acknowledge that we were extremely fortunate. The gods saw fit to join us together, and for that we are grateful. Not everyone is so lucky."

"My marriage to your father did not start out well, darling," Annis reminds her daughter.

"Yes, I remember," Sophia replies. "She told my sisters and me all about it. Father was not keen on being married," she explains to the others.

"To be fair, I was a bit of a spoiled brat," Annis adds with a mischievous smirk.

"I have a hard time picturing that," Morgana says. "But I must say I'm very glad I refused every toad my father tried to foist on me."

"You and Sophia are lucky. You both at least got to meet your husbands before marrying them," Guinevere says. "That's the other main reason we are changing that tradition. We were both completely terrified. We couldn't put our daughter through such a thing." She pauses. "We _wouldn't,_ " she amends. "Arthur and I both know there is a difference between _can_ and _should_."

"And that, my dear, is essentially the difference between Arthur and Uther," Annis declares.

xXx

Arthur walks back to their rooms, having left the revelry with the lads early. He was bit tired from travel, and only had one drink because he really wanted to just be alone with his wife. He quietly chuckles at himself as he opens the door, thinking he's growing prematurely old.

His eyes immediately land on Guinevere, standing by the table, her back to him. She is looking down at something on the table, and the glow from the fire in front of her casts a silhouette of her body through the white linen of her sleeveless nightdress. She doesn't seem to notice that he's there, so he silently closes the door and walks up behind her.

He wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her neck.

"Arthur," she says, not sounding surprised. She tilts her head to the side as he continues trailing kisses over her skin.

"What are you reading?" he mutters against her skin.

"Not really reading… it's the royal family tree," she answers, leaning against his solid body. "I was updating it."

"Mmm," he answers, not really interested in the Leodegrance family genealogy at the moment. His hand moves higher, covering her breast. He can easily feel her through the thin material of the summer gown, but his other hand starts gathering up the skirt of it, questing for skin.

She closes her eyes, enjoying his attention. She keeps waiting for him to turn her around or whisk her off of her feet and carry her to the bed. His right hand has found its way under her nightgown, his palm rubbing soft, slow circles on her thigh, just teasing her, while his left hand dallies at her breast.

He moves his head and catches her lips, but holds her fast when she tries to turn around. "Stay there," he whispers, dragging his lips over her cheek.

Guinevere is a little confused, but she trusts her husband and does as he asks. A second later, he backs away a little. She stays put, only to feel her nightgown lifted up, but just to her waist. She opens her mouth to ask what he is doing, but closes it again as she feels the gentle pressure of his hand between her shoulder blades.

She shoves the family tree parchment to the side and leans forward, not stopping until she is nearly flat against the table.

Arthur runs his hands over her backside, caressing her skin. Unable to stop himself, he bends over and kisses her rear. Just a simple kiss on the cheek of her rump, but she yelps in surprise nevertheless, reflexively straightening up.

"I did not mean to startle you," he apologizes, easing her back down by leaning over her and kissing her neck again. "But I could not resist." He slides back down and kisses the other side.

"What are you doing?" she asks, trying to see him.

He answers by pressing himself against her, so she can feel his hard length. He reaches his hand around and moves it between her legs, encouraging her to widen them for him with soft touches and slow strokes.

With his other hand, he positions himself, then slides into her.

"Oh…" she moans, pushing back against him. He slides back and then forward again, letting her grow accustomed to this new position.

Letting himself grow accustomed to it as well. He's not sure if it is the spontaneity of their interlude or the feel of this different angle, but he has a feeling he isn't going to last long. So he keeps his hand between her legs, fingers circling, just to increase her pleasure to match his.

"Arth…" she gasps, grabbing the edge of the table just to anchor herself.

He grunts a reply, then leans over her and kisses her neck, then shoulder before straightening back up again. He closes his eyes, willing himself to hang on just as she cries out, her body jerking with her climax.

He exhales, moving to grasp her backside with both hands, quickly driving himself to his own release. He groans long and low, pushing forward and stilling within her, his fingers digging into the pliant flesh of her rear.

"Oh, Guinevere," he sighs, flopping forward over her. He kisses her back, then neck, and gently withdraws from her. He adjusts her nightgown and then helps her to stand.

"What was that?" she asks, feeling slightly dizzy from being bent over the table.

His brow furrows. "Did you not enjoy—?"

She pecks his lips. "I did, Arthur, I did," she reassures him. "I just never thought about doing it… _that_ way."

"Come." He takes her hand and leads her to the bed, holding his trousers up with the other.

Guinevere climbs into bed, watching while Arthur disrobes and slides into bed naked. He pulls her into his arms and says, "I heard talk of such things. I had nearly forgotten about it until I saw you standing there, your back to me," he pauses, kissing her, "your body glowing in the firelight."

"Where did you hear such talk?" she asks.

"You would be scandalized if you heard how some of the knights talk when there are no others – that is to say, no women – around," he answers.

She ponders this a moment, then says, "Probably."

He laughs and kisses her, lingering over her lips for a bit.

"People eat at that table," she says, giggling between kisses. "Or at least they used to. I don't think anyone uses this room on a permanent basis right now."

"Mmm," he replies. "Perhaps we'll have to try it again at home."

"Perhaps _not_ at the table," she suggests. "It is hard."

He leans back slightly and looks at her, his mind reeling with creative options. "Oh, Love, there are so many possibilities."

Guinevere giggles again, only stopping when Arthur's small, playful kisses turn deeper and more ardent.

"Who's room was this?" he asks, leaving her lips to return to her neck. "You said people used to eat at that table."

"Oh…" she sighs when he lightly sucks at one of her favorite spots on her neck. "It was my parents' room," she answers.

Arthur lifts his head and raises an eyebrow at her. "Really," he says, looking positively wolfish as he descends over her again.

xXx

The wedding is very similar to Arthur and Guinevere's, only Sophia is not veiled as she walks down the aisle. Other than that, it is essentially the same ceremony. It is over fairly quickly, followed by a feast.

Guinevere excuses herself to feed Aedre after she eats. Arthur offers to go with her, but she insists he stay and enjoy the feast and the company. "I will be fine," she assures him.

In truth, Arthur wished to accompany her because he has been avoiding his uncle. He knows if he is alone, Agravaine will be right there with his latest idiotic proposal.

And Arthur has a pretty good idea what his uncle's latest hair-brained scheme is, which is why he has been avoiding him.

But sure enough, as soon as his wife disappeared with Aedre, Agravaine appeared like a wraith. "Arthur, a word," he says, sitting in Guinevere's vacated chair.

"Oh, just one? Excellent. This should be a short conversation then," Arthur replies.

Thrown by his nephew's flippant reply, Agravaine briefly sputters, then regroups. "There is something I would like you to consider," he starts.

"No," Arthur answers, cutting him off.

"You do not even know what I am about to propose," Agravaine counters.

"Yes, I do. And the answer is no. I will not broker a marriage between Aedre and Mordred."

Agravaine waves a servant over, wishing for a drink of wine. "At least hear me out," he tries again, taking a swig of his wine. "I know they are… distantly related, but—"

"They are second cousins, uncle. Not that distant," Arthur interjects.

"It is still quite acceptable, as you well know," Agravaine insists.

"No."

"But—"

"Do not try to convince me, Uncle. Not only did I promise Guinevere that I would not put our daughter through what she and I did—"

"But it worked out quite well for you and the queen," Agravaine points out.

"Irrelevant," Arthur snaps. "I made a promise to my wife. But even if I hadn't, Camelot would have nothing to gain from such a match. Ascetir is already a part of Camelot. _You_ are the only person who would benefit from this, by having your Grandson become king. If you even live long enough to see that happen." Agravaine opens his mouth to protest again, so Arthur plays his trump card. "Have you proposed this match to Morgana?" he asks, his voice like honey. When his uncle's red face turns purple and he stalks away, Arthur knows the issue is dead.

He leans back in his chair, and happens to catch Morgana's eye a short distance away. She is looking at him rather intently, a curious look on her face. Arthur just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Morgana replies with an understanding nod.

"Da!" The excited voice of his daughter immediately brightens Arthur's mood, and he turns to take her from her mother.

"Hello, Duckling, are you happy now with a full tummy and a clean bottom?" he asks, kissing her plump cheeks.

"Bank," she says, holding up a blanket she likes to hold at bedtime.

"For me?" he asks, reaching for it.

"My bank," she answers, clutching it to her chest.

"Whose wine is this?" Guinevere asks, noting her goblet, which was empty when she left the table.

"Oh, Agravaine paid me a little visit while you were away," Arthur replies, keeping his eyes on his daughter, who is playing with the ties on his shirt. "He was trying to convince me that our little princess here should become betrothed to her second cousin," he informs, kissing his daughter's head.

"Me," Aedre says, patting her chest. "I pincess."

"Yes, you are," Arthur answers, then looks at his wife. "I told him no, obviously."

"I should think so," Guinevere says. "Does he take us for fools?"

"I have no idea," he responds. "But I cannot wait to tell Auntie Morgana," he adds, his attention back on his daughter.

"Well, if you're looking to have Agravaine killed…" Guinevere says. She shakes her head. "Even if we _were_ interested in finding a husband for Aedre now, promising her to Mordred makes no sense. I mean… setting aside the fact that they are related… we would have nothing to gain."

"That's _exactly_ ," he lightly pokes his daughter's nose with the word, "what I told him." He looks up at Guinevere. "And that I promised you I wouldn't."

She smiles, then leans over and kisses him. "Thank you, Love," she says. Then she kisses him once more and they linger until Aedre demands their attention again by placing her little hands on their cheeks.


	15. Chapter 15

-20 years later-

" _Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable." -Bruce Lee_

"Come in," Guinevere calls, hearing a knock on her chamber doors. "Ah, hello, Sir Kay."

"My lady, a party has been spotted approaching Camelot," he says as she walks over.

"Oh?" she asks. "Were they flying any colors?"

"Banners of red and gold stripe, my lady," Kay replies. "There are four on horseback and a knight driving a small wagon."

A smile creeps over her face. "Aragon," she says, almost a whisper.

"Did you say Aragon? In Spain?" Kay asks, confused.

"Yes. We have been expecting a visit from our dear friends there, only we did not know precisely when they would arrive," she answers. "Did you see the riders?"

"Yes, my lady. Two men and two women. Dark hair," Kay reports.

"Were they all ridiculously beautiful?"

Kay blinks in surprise. "Um, yes. The front man was riding tall and proud, and the woman… well, she was the most beautiful lady I have ever seen, save yourself, of course, my lady."

Guinevere snorts a small laugh and stands. "That _is_ Aragon, and you flatter me."

"Oh, no, my lady. It is widely accepted as fact, at least among the knights, that there is none more lovely than our queen." He says it with such earnest conviction that she cannot help but smile.

"Well, Sir Gwaine may not agree, but you are all very kind," she answers.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but Sir Gwaine is now Lord Gwaine of Ascetir and therefore his opinion is not counted amongst the _current_ Knights of Camelot," Kay says. "And young Mordred is not yet a full knight."

Guinevere is fully laughing now. "Yes, well, he will be next week," she says, patting the knight on the shoulder. "How far away was the party from Aragon?"

"They are—"

Merlin's head pokes in through the open doors, interrupting them.

"My lady, Aragon is nearly here," he informs.

"Thank you, Merlin," she replies. "Is Arthur still on the training fields?"

"Yes. I will let him know," he answers.

"It's all right. I will greet them and bring them there," she says. "Thank you, Sir Kay," she says, dismissing the knight. He bows and returns to his post while Guinevere takes Merlin's arm to go greet their guests.

They enter the courtyard just as the party from Aragon makes their entrance. Tiago looks even more like his father than he did when they saw him 20 years go. His wife, Melisenda, is beautiful and noble riding beside him. They are followed by what must be the twins, Arturo and Ginebra, and the wagon follows behind.

"Welcome, friends," Guinevere calls, smiling as she steps forward.

"Thank you, _mi reina_ , it is wonderful to be back in your kingdom, though long overdue," Tiago replies, swinging down from his horse.

"I wish we could have found the time to come visit you," Guinevere says. "Unfortunately, the responsibilities of running a kingdom make traveling for pleasure nearly impossible."

"We understand," he replies, helping his wife down from her horse. Behind them, Arturo is assisting his sister. "Allow me to present my family. Well, some of it. My younger children are at home with their _abuelos_ , of course, though they wished to come along." He holds his hand out to his wife, and she places hers in it. "My wife, Melisenda."

"Welcome, my lady," Guinevere says, smiling.

Melisenda curtseys. "Thank you. I am honored to meet you, your highness."

"Please, call me Guinevere, or Gwen, if it is easier," Guinevere says, remembering how Doña Estela struggled with her full name.

"My son, Arturo, and my daughter, Ginebra," Tiago motions his children, now 21, forward.

"I am so pleased to meet you both," Guinevere says, grinning broadly, taking note of how Tiago pronounces his daughter's name "hee-NEH-bra". Arturo bows and offers his hand. The queen places hers in it.

"The pleasure and honor is mine," Arturo says, kissing her hand.

"My lady," Ginebra greets, curtseying. "I am very happy to finally meet the great woman for whom I am named."

Guinevere extends her hands and Ginebra places hers in them. She gently squeezes them, then says, "I am happy to meet you as well." Then she adds, "I will admit, I was not sure how to pronounce your name until I heard your father speak it, Ginebra. It sounds much lovelier than I imagined."

They all laugh, and Tiago asks, "But where is your king?" He looks around the courtyard.

"He is on the training field with the children. Come, I will take you there. Merlin will see to your things," Guinevere answers.

"My lady, if I may?" Arturo steps forward and offers his arm to the queen. Guinevere sees Melisenda's lips twitch as she bites back her amused smile at her son's bold behavior.

"Why, thank you," she answers, taking the young man's arm. He is a good deal taller than she, and his arm is thick with muscle.

The field comes into view, and as they move closer, the activity gradually stops.

"Papa, who are _they_?" Llacheu asks, shading his eyes from the sun to better see. "And who is that man escorting Mother?" At 16, their youngest child and only son is rather protective of his mother.

Arthur smiles. "That must be Arturo," he says. "Girls," he calls to his daughters. Aedre and Eleanor jog forward, swords hanging from their hands. "We have guests."

"Aragon?" Aedre asks, angling her head and studying them. "Goodness, Mama was right. They are all unreasonably beautiful," she assesses. Then her eyes land on Arturo and she forgets to breathe for a moment.

"Close your mouth, Dree," Eleanor mutters. A moment later, she adds, "But I understand your reaction. Goodness."

Arthur narrows his eyes at his daughters for a moment, then sighs before walking forward. "Tiago, my friend," he calls.

"King Arthur of Camelot," Tiago replies, grinning. The two men clasp arms, then hug. Arthur kisses Melisenda's hand as she is introduced, and his children quickly join them.

"Ah," Arthur says, taking Aedre's hand and ushering her forward. "Santiago II of Aragon, this is my eldest child and heir to the throne of Camelot, Princess Aedre."

"It is an honor, _Princesa_ ," Tiago greets, bowing and kissing Aedre's hand.

"I am happy to finally meet you, sir. I have heard much about you and my parents are always thrilled to receive your correspondence," Aedre replies. "Please forgive my appearance," she adds. "I was not told to expect visitors this morning." She glances sideways at her father.

"You are truly as lovely as I expected," Tiago says. "No. You are lovelier, even dressed for combat."

"I am not certain I agree, sir, but thank you," she answers, unable to stop her smile.

Tiago merely grins in response. "Please, allow me to present my wife, Melisenda, and my two eldest children, Ginebra and Arturo," he introduces.

Ginebra curtseys. "I am pleased to meet you, my lady," she says.

"It is lovely to meet you as well," Aedre replies.

Arturo steps forward. "I am enchanted to make your acquaintance, _Princesa_ ," he says, then bows over her hand, which he kisses, muttering, " _Su belleza roba las palabras de mi boca_."

Aedre blushes, something she rarely does. "Thank you, sir," she answers. She is used to men paying attention to her, but no man has made her heart pound and stomach flip like Arturo has, even though she has no idea what he just said. At 20 years old, she is a bit old to yet be unmarried, but Arthur and Guinevere wanted her to have a hand in choosing her husband. She is quite beautiful, with her mother's dusky coloring and full lips paired with her father's blue eyes and dark gold curls. And the fact that she is _also_ heir to the throne of one of the most prosperous kingdoms in the land means suitors have not been in short supply. But none of those men have interested her.

Guinevere sees the attraction between Aedre and Arturo, and catches her husband's eye, raising an eyebrow. Arthur, far less keen on marrying off his daughter, manages a half-smile while tilting his head slightly to the side.

The king clears his throat. "And of course, this is Princess Eleanor and Prince Llacheu," he introduces, smiling proudly as he gently urges his younger two children forward.

"I am very pleased to meet you both," Tiago greets, bowing again and kissing Eleanor's hand.

"You are all so very beautiful," Melisenda says with a smile, curtseying. Eleanor favors Guinevere more strongly than Aedre, and Llacheu is almost a copy of Arthur, but with his mother's eyes.

"Mother says the same thing about your family," Llacheu replies. He clasps arms with Tiago and kisses Melisenda's hand.

"Llacheu!" Guinevere exclaims, embarrassed.

Tiago chuckles and introduces his children to the prince and princess. He actually has to nudge Arturo to get him to shift his attention from Aedre.

"Come, I'm sure Merlin has some refreshments prepared," Guinevere says.

The group heads inside, chatting as they go.

"You are just turned 16, Prince Llacheu?" Tiago asks.

"Yes, sir," he answers. "Last month."

"That is what I thought I remembered," Tiago replies with a nod. "And Princess Eleanor, you will be 18 in a few months, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Eleanor says, surprised.

"Your parents wrote us when each of you were born, and we made note of each one," Tiago explains. "So we also know that Princess Aedre will be 21 this winter."

"And how are the rest of your children?" Guinevere asks. "We have gifts for you to bring back to them; do not let me forget to give them to you."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you!" Melisenda exclaims. "We brought a few things for you as well, of course, but they are with our belongings."

"And yes, we brought wine," Tiago interjects, looking pointedly at Arthur.

"Excellent," Arthur says with a broad smile.

"Our children are well," Melisenda continues. They enter the dining hall to find Merlin has indeed set up some light snacks and beverages for them. "Sebastián and Cristóbal continue to try my patience, but they are getting less rambunctious as they get older and their training becomes more rigorous. Magdalena is turning out to be exceptionally intelligent – she has already mastered three languages and can total up large sums in her head!"

"That's amazing," Aedre says as they sit.

"We are amazed by her every day," Tiago says. "And our Estela continues to have her _abuelo_ eating out of the palm of her hand." Arthur chuckles, and Tiago adds, "I think it's the name. He has a soft spot."

"And how are your parents?" Arthur asks.

"They are in excellent health and send their fond greetings," Tiago answers. "They would have come along, but Mother does not like to travel any more."

"And Don Santiago does not travel without his doña," Melisenda adds, smiling. "It does my heart good to see how in love they still are."

"It did mine as well when they visited," Guinevere says. "We were just newly married when we first met them, so it gave me hope to see."

They chat companionably for a while, discussing unimportant matters. A lull falls after a time, and Tiago clears his throat.

"Arthur," he says, "I must confess we have a… hidden purpose for our visit."

"Oh?" Arthur asks, intrigued. _Surely they did not come hoping to marry off their son to my daughter, even though I think Aedre would heartily agree._

Tiago looks at his son. Arturo turns to Arthur and says, "If you will have me, I would like nothing more than to join your ranks and become a Knight of Camelot."

Arthur blinks in surprise. "I would be honored to have you, Arturo, but… are you giving up your birthright to join us?"

"I am giving up very little," Arturo answers. "Ginebra is older by 25 minutes. Our family home will pass to her, not me."

"Why not become a knight in your own kingdom?" Llacheu asks.

"Because the Knights of Camelot are the finest knights in all the land, and if I am going to become a knight, I am going to be one of the best," Arturo declares.

Guinevere presses her lips together to stop her laughter. It's not mocking laughter; it is amusement at how much like her husband his namesake is turning out to be.

"Can't argue with that," Arthur says. "If it is your wish to become a Knight of Camelot, and your parents do not object, then we will be proud to have you, Arturo."

"Oh, thank you!" Arturo exclaims, nearly jumping out of his seat in his excitement. "I promise you will not be disappointed."

"You're welcome," Arthur says. "And we'll see how grateful you are after your first few training sessions," he adds with an evil grin.

"I assume that the cart you brought holds your belongings then?" Guinevere asks.

"Yes. We did not want to appear presumptuous, but it did seem likely that you would accept him, and since it is rather a long journey, we thought it practical," Tiago answers. "Thank you for giving him this opportunity. We will miss him, but this is his wish."

"You are very welcome," Arthur repeats.

"I must ask though," Tiago says. "You are also training your daughters?"

"Yes," Arthur replies. "I – we – felt it was important for the princesses to learn to fight as well, if only to defend themselves should the need arise."

"And, unfortunately, it occasionally does," Tiago says, lifting his goblet towards Guinevere.

She smiles and says, "Indeed."

"Aedre has surpassed my expectations with her swordsmanship," Arthur boasts. "And Eleanor cannot be beaten on the archery range." His quiet middle child blushes and smiles into her cup. "And Llacheu grows stronger and more skilled every day."

"Good with a sword, are you?" Arturo asks, giving Aedre an impressed look.

"She can best a fair amount of the men," Arthur says, baiting the hook.

"Oh really?" Arturo asks. "Very interesting."

xXx

"He's letting her win," Tiago theorizes an hour later, watching Arturo and Aedre spar with swords, back on the training grounds.

"I do not think so," Arthur counters, not bothering to hide his pride in his daughter as she deftly avoids a rather aggressive thrust from Arturo's sword.

"Oh? Perhaps I could interest you in a wager then?" Tiago suggests.

Intrigued, Arthur's eyebrows lift, but Melisenda's next words quash any hopes of such sport.

"And how, exactly, would you settle that debate, my husband?" she asks, giving Tiago a _look._

"Exactly," Guinevere agrees. "He's not likely to confess one way or the other."

"Fair point," Arthur allows. Aedre stumbles, and he yells, "Footwork, Dree!"

The princess makes a face at her father, then skillfully disarms Arturo, sending his sword from his hand and into hers. Arthur grins, realizing her stumble was very likely intentional.

"How…?" Tiago asks, eyes wide.

"I must confess she learned that from Sir Gwaine," Arthur admits, watching as Arturo holds his hands up in surrender. "Though I do also know how to do that now. Finally. He taught her how before he would teach me."

"Sir Gwaine… he is the Celt who married your cousin, yes?" Melisenda asks.

"Yes. He has retired to become Lord Gwaine of Ascetir following the death of my uncle, Lord Agravaine, this past winter," Arthur informs. Aedre and Arturo walk towards them, now sweating and breathing heavily from their exertion, but chatting companionably, barely taking their eyes off of one another.

"It seems my son is… what is the word?" Tiago muses, furrowing his brows.

"Smitten," Arthur supplies, lightly frowning. "He is smitten with my daughter."

"Yes. That is it," Tiago pronounces with a nod. "The _princesa_ has ensnared his heart rather quickly, I think." He turns towards Aedre. "That was most impressive, my lady…"

"The attraction appears to be mutual, Love," Guinevere quietly informs. "And he is quite worthy, so if he is her choice…"

"Yes, I know. And he _is_ worthy," Arthur agrees, watching as Aedre and Arturo talk to Tiago and Melisenda for a moment. "It's just…"

"She is a woman grown, Arthur," Guinevere says. "And three years older than I was when I married you."

Arthur wraps his arm around his wife's shoulders, then leans down and kisses her temple. He watches his daughter showing Arturo and Tiago how she disarmed the young knight. He notices Arturo gazes on her with an expression not unlike his own when he looks at Guinevere. He catches his daughter's eye; she blushes and bites her lower lip, caught. Arthur smiles, hoping to convey his blessing to her.

"So be it," he pronounces, gently lifting his wife's chin to tilt her face up to his for a soft kiss.

-End-


End file.
